


Revenge So Sweet

by Lytri



Series: Revenge So Sweet Universe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Child Abuse, Cunning Harry, Dark Harry, Death really doesn't like Tom in the beginning, He's a budding little sociopath, Homicidal Tom, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Immortal Harry, Jealous Death, Jealous Tom, M/M, Manipulative Harry, Master of Death Harry Potter, Murder, Necromancer Harry Potter, Necromancy, Not (Completely) Insane Tom, Obsessive Behavior, Obsessive Tom, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Death, Possessive Tom, Powerful Harry, Protective Death, Protective Tom, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Slightly Oblivious Harry, Soul Bond, Time Travel, Torture, Traumatised Harry, Violence, Wool's Orphanage, …it's inevitable really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7609495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lytri/pseuds/Lytri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the final battle, Harry was betrayed by those closest to him.  Subjected to torture, he finally found solace in Death.  He just didn't expect for his comfort in Death to turn out quite so literally.  Being the Master of Death certainly wasn't on Harry's bucket list as far as he was concerned.  But, at finding that he could travel to different timelines, Harry isn't complaining.  Even if he wants to wring out Death's neck in frustration. </p><p>Given the choice to go back in time whenever he wanted, Harry chose to go back to Tom Riddle's childhood to get revenge on the so called Light. He's going to make sure that Voldemort wins this time.  And if he fails, he'll just have to go back and try again.  He certainly has enough time on his hands.  If he also happens to make Death regret ever allowing him free range to do anything he wanted, well, at least Death will not be alone in their suffering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I wrote this at like, 3 in the morning, so forgive me for any errors and please inform me of them so I can correct them. Also, there will probably be slow updates. The problem with writing when sleep deprived and in the early morning is that I didn't come up with a plot (or, I think I didn't, at least).
> 
> Thank you!
> 
>  **Warnings** : Rape, Torture.

# Chapter I

 

 _I was such a fool_ , Harry thought as he lay on the concrete floor, laying in a pool of dark, viscous liquid. There was a long and deep gash that went across his stomach. _So blinded of what was really going around me_. Hazily, he took a blurry glance of his surroundings. Water fell from the dirty and stained ceiling and went _drip drip drip_ as it hit the floor and landed in a puddle of blood. He could feel his life force slipping away from him. He was actually quite ready to die. He knew that as a fact when he asked Hermione to kill him. He would welcome death with open arms as if it were an old friend. And really, many might argue that death was an old friend of Harry's. _So this is the end, huh?_ was Harry's last thoughts before he knew no more.

 

_**Three Months Earlier** _

 

“Congratulations, Harry!” Ron exclaimed with a wide smile a tad too sharp. “You did it mate! You _finally_ did it!”

Harry looked at Ron and forced a smile, his eyes carrying a hidden suspicion at the way Ron was acting. He was not blind to Rons rather nasty personality, and he always felt on edge when it started to surface. Next to Ron was Hermione, who was silent the whole time Ron talked. She held a look in her eyes that spoke of regret and deep sorrow. She wore no smile nor excitement on her face, her eyes downcast and hands wringing in front of her.

“Let's go find the Aurors,” Hermione said, finally breaking from her silence. “They might be able to tell us what happened to the others.”

Harry gave her a strange look, wondering about her odd behaviour as well. But after a moment's pause, he just shrugged and went with it, ignoring his Slytherin side that was screaming at him and brushed it off as him reading too much into it. Following Ron and Hermione's lead, they navigated through the rubble and bodies at Hogwarts. After walking a while, they came across a group of Aurors, none that he recognised. Approaching them, Ron had fallen back behind him, but Harry thought nothing of it. The Aurors looked at the approaching trio, one of them signalling behind him with their head.

“I'm so sorry, Harry.” Hermione's face was tear stricken and full of regret.

“ _Stupefy_!” Harry heard behind him before his limbs seized up and he crashed to the ground.

Two days later Harry woke up to the sound of a door closing loudly and a damp, dark cell, his wrists in manacles, chained to the ceiling and feet just barely brushing the floor. He was disoriented and the manacles on his wrists were digging into his wrists harshly, making his skin raw and in pain. Blinking his eyes rapidly, Harry tried to discern where he was and keep calm, knowing that panicking would do nothing for him. There was no windows, barely any light, and he couldn't feel his magic. At that realisation, he did start to panic, the one thing that would be his ticket out of there gone. He effect empty, the missing magic like a gaping hole in his core that reached all the way to his soul.

Experimentally tugging at his chains, he hissed in pain when he only further damaged his wrists. “Okay Harry, just calm down,” He mumbled to himself. “You're chained in a cell with no magic. The last thing you remember…the last thing you remember was going to meet up with the Aurors, and then Hermione's crying face while apologising. But apologising for what? And after that, you heard a _Stupefy_ behind you. Behind you. Behind me. Who…? _Ron_! That bloody, backstabbing bastard! Oh if I could see him I'd wring his neck…” Harry ranted until he was panting for breath and his mouth was exceedingly dry. Just then he realised he was really thirsty, and that his stomach was rumbling angrily at him.

Realising that he might be stuck there with no food or water for who knows how long, his body sagged, not even caring that his wrists were screaming in protest. He didn't know how long he hung there, his mind drifting in and out of sleep, before a loud _creak_ of a door could be heard, and a bright light pierced the darkness, spilling over the cell he currently occupied. A figure was approaching, but the sharp contrast between the light and darkness made the figures face indiscernible. It was only until they were a meter or so away from Harry that he knew the identity in question, and he couldn't help but snarl at them. The figure was revealed to be Ron Weasley himself. Just behind Weasley another figure approached, turning out to be one of the nameless Aurors that were in the group at Hogwarts.

“The bloody Boy-Who-Lived, reduced to nothing but a worthless _freak_.” Weasley attempted to sneer, only for it to turn into a mangled grimace. Harry couldn't suppress a wince at that word, memories best left forgotten from his time with the Dursley’s resurfacing to the forefront of his mind. “Oh? Did I strike a cord, _freak_?” Weasley gave a cocky smirk.

“Careful there,” Harry taunted. “Or your ego will need a room for itself.”

Weasley’s face turned a dark shade of red, and with a roar, pulled out his wand. “ _Diffindo_!” A light shot of his wand and connected with Harry’s leg, causing a long cut to appear and start to quickly gush blood.

“Gah!” Harry gritted his teeth while trying not to pass out as he became dizzier and dizzier.

“You eejit!” The Auror berated the Weasley. “We want him _alive_ not _dead_!” Quickly, the Auror approached closer to his cell and casted _Episkey_ over and over until the bleeding was reduced to something less life threatening.

“You should leave,” the Auror told Weasley. “I'm the one in charge of… _interrogation_ of Potter. I'm going to make him squeal like a pig.”

Reluctantly, Weasley turned and went to leave, but not before being thanked by the Auror. “By the way, thank you for the tips on what to call him. Who knew the Golden Boy had such an _interesting_ past,” When the door closed with a slam, the Auror turned back on Harry and gave him a wicked smirk. “Now, you are to address me as uncle. Now, be a good _boy_ and say it.”

Harry just gave the Auror a piercing glare with his Avada Kedavra eyes and spat at his feet.

The Aurors face became enraged, and with a flick of his wand and a muttered Alohomora, he entered the cell. Approaching Harry, he reached out and caressed his cheek while Harry futilely tried to kick the man. But it was to no avail, for his wrists and arms burned from hanging so long, and he lacked the strength to kick, his hanging feet not being able to use the ground as leverage. Abruptly, the man gripped his chin and turned his face to look him in the eyes.

“Listen here, _boy_. You will call me uncle or you will not like the consequences.”

Harry just continued to glare, keeping silent.

Seeing that Harry wasn't going to oblique any time soon, the Auror banished Harry's clothing. Reaching out, he grabbed one of Harry's nipples and twisted it hard. Harry instantly tried to recoil from him, but the Auror just used his other hand to grip at Harry's arse to keep him still. Moving on from Harry's nipples, the Auror slid his hand down slowly, watching Harry's face for a reaction. Finally, when he started to reach his navel, Harry started to flail wildly, panic in his eyes.

“Are you going to call me uncle yet, or do you need more… _convincing_?” The Auror slowly started to inch his hand further down.

“Alright! Alright! I'll call you that, just stop.” Harry finally relented, wishing for the Auror’s vile hands to stop touching him.

“Alright what?” The Auror asked, hand just reaching the base of his cock.

“Uncle! Alright uncle!” Harry all but shouted at the Auror.

“That's a good _boy._ ” The Auror said while backing away from Harry. Turning around, he exited the cell and re-locked it, leaving Harry still with no clothing on. All of Harry's scars could be seen, marring his otherwise smooth, porcelain skin. Giving Harry one last once over and a disturbing leer, the Auror left Harry, naked and in the dark.

The next day brought Harry to pain in his wrists and pain in his leg, along with a permanent chill in his bones, as he had no clothing to keep his heat in. But not all was terrible, and with the next day came water and bread, which was brought to him by Hermione herself. She still wore a guilty face when she approached him. Even more so when she realised his state of undress and the gash on his leg. Opening the cell door, she approached him slowly, her feet shuffling across the concrete floor. Gently, she first lifted the cup of water to his lips and slowly tipped it so that Harry could drink. She then picked up the bread and brought it to his lips, but this time Harry stubbornly kept his mouth shut.

“I'm so sorry,” Hermione said. “But please, you have to eat.”

Harry only glanced at her coldly before looking away and ignoring her presence.

“Please eat. Or one of them will come down and make you eat.”

At hearing Hermione's truthful words, he reluctantly turned his head towards her. Bring her hand back up, she placed it by his mouth. He took small bites, knowing from experience that eating too fast after not eating would make him sick and thank t eating in smaller bites fooled his body into thinking he ate more than he did. The process continued until the bread was gone. Bringing the cup back to his lips, he drank the rest of the water. Stepping back from Harry slightly, Hermione looked up at his face. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then abruptly shut and turned her back to Harry. As she went to leave, she was stopped by Harry's whisper.

"Why?" Harry uttered, his voice so full of pain and betrayal. "Ron, I might of suspected. But never you."

Hermione clenched her hands closed and turned around, her nails digging crescent moons into her palms. "I didn't know they were going to do this," She said softly, her heart constricting with the guilt. "They said they were just going to use Veritaserum, so I went along with them. I wish I could get you out of here Harry, but I had already made a vow that I wouldn't stop what they were going to do. I should have been more suspicious. I should have realised that there was something off with what they were saying. But I didn't. And I just wish I could turn back time. If only I—.”

“Leave.” Harry harshly said, cutting off what Hermione was going to say. With watery eyes, she obliged, the door slamming with a sense of finality.

The hours blended into days and the days weeks until Harry no longer had a sense of time. His vision became even poorer than it had been, his eyes constantly being exposed to the dark. He spent most of his time in his head, thinking and reminiscing in memories that seemed so long ago. He was not told what he was there for. He hadn't even been visited by the Auror or Weasley since the first day. Only Hermione, and she learned quickly enough to not speak to him despite trying so hard to mend their broken friendship. But it was so filled with betrayal that that would never happen. But then, all of a sudden, his rather peaceful time in his cell ended. The Auror started to visit him again.

The Auror entered the room with purpose, smoothly unlocking the cell with an  _Alohomora_ . Standing in front of him, he lifted his wand so it pointed at Harry.

“Tell me, who did you recruit?” The Auror demanded.

“Recruit?” Harry asked in confusion.

“Don't play stupid with me now, _boy_ ,” The Auror spat, some spittle hitting Harry's face. “Tell me who you recruited for to your Inner Circle.”

“Inner Circle…? What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Harry asked incredulously.

“So you're going be like that, huh? Well, more fun for me, then,” With a snarl, the Auror casted a _Crucio_ on Harry, eliciting a suppressed scream. After a few moments the Auror canceled the spell. “Well? Are you going to talk now?”

“I said I don't know what your talking about.” Harry repeated.

“Stubborn,” the Auror muttered and pointed his wand to Harry's left eye. “ _Defodio_!” He casted, gouging out Harry's eye. This time he did scream out in pain, his vision blurring momentarily at the loss of one eye. With another flick of his wand, the Auror casted a Sectumsempra at Harry's right foot, cutting it clean off. With another howl of pain, Harry's vision blurred once more and black spots appeared in his vision. Another Auror entered the room and then he passed out from pain.

The Auror would visit his cell seemingly everyday, torturing him and trying to get information he didn't have out of him. Sometimes he would be in a rather good mood, choosing to stick to _Crucios_ and _Diffindos_. Other times, he was in a bad mood and he would sever his fingers and toes and carve into his flesh. And always, after the torture, another Auror would come in and heal him up. But the healer never reattached his missing limbs and eye. The days of torture continued, until Harry was just numb to the pain and stopped screaming. He had no idea what information they were trying to get out of him. That is, until one day the Auror visited him in a piss poor mood.

Walking to Harry's cage, the Auror quickly unlocked the cell door and closed it shut behind him. This time he had no wand on him, instead unlocking the door the old fashioned way. With a key.

“You are very hard to break, _boy_ ,” The Auror said. “But Albus did warn us about that.”

Harry jerked his head up in surprise.

“Caught your attention, did I? Yes, _Albus_. He organised this whole thing. Said how your mind was connected to You-Know-Who’s and that you were turning dark. You were already trying to make your inner circle, sneaking off in the middle of the night to recruit Slytherins and try to corrupt Hufflepuffs. So, he sent your ‘friends’ to spy on you and slip you potions. He had you following his lead like a dog and trained you to eat out of his hand. Once you killed You-Know-Who, you would be easy pickings and we could interrogate you so that you'll never succeed in becoming the next Dark Lord. Can't believe it worked, but then again you are a Gryffindor.” The Auror made sure to tell Harry the information as cruelly as possible.

“Fuck you!” Harry shouted hoarsely in his raspy voice, not caring about the consequences for his outburst. He was beyond pissed, betrayal and anger warring within him. He wanted to bring Dumbledore back to dead just so he could kill him and bring him back over and over again. And the fact that he had been slipped who knows what by his friends made him want to just _Crucio_ them until their brains turned into mush.

“I believe it will be the other way around.” The man snarled, his face set in an angry sneer. “It's your own fault that this is happening. If only you could keep your emotions and temper in check, we would resume the usual kind of interrogation methods.”

Quickly approaching Harry, he unlocked his manacles and Harry fell into a heap on the floor, his body too weak to stand from the torture and hanging for months. He could hardly move his own limbs without them shaking shaking violently. Disrobing, the Auror went over to Harry's fallen form and pulled him up so that he was on his knees. Grabbing his chin roughly, he directed Harry's mouth to his cock, the member already half hard.

“Suck it, and do a good job of it too.”

“No.” Harry refused, even though he knew he was just making it worse for himself.

“ _No_?” The Auror repeated. Gripping Harry's hair, he harshly tugged on the now long locks, making it as painful as he could. “I don't believe I heard you right. Unless I did. Then, I guess I could get some of my friends to come here and help me out with you.”

“Yes.” Harry growled.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, uncle.” Harry gritted out.

“That's a good _boy_.”

Opening his mouth, Harry took the Auror's cock in his mouth and swirled his tongue. Licking up and down the Auror's cock, he expertly used his tongue to stimulate his cock. Done with teasing the cock, Harry put it in his mouth half way and started to suck.

“Don't you dare bite or you will wish you were dead.” The Auror said, his eyes closed in pleasure.

Continuing, Harry sucked and bobbed his head, trying to not gag in disgust and horror. He kept repeating the motion until the Auror above him stiffened and grabbed his hair. With a tug, the Auror pulled Harry's head forward so that his cock was fully sheathed inside his mouth and he was deep throating it. With a few hard thrusts, the Auror finally came into Harry's mouth. Harry felt hot liquid squirting down his throat and started to gag and choke on the flow of liquid shooting down his throat. When he thought he was going to pass out, the Auror pulled out, leaving Harry to cough and choke from cum. Exhausted, Harry believed that the Auror was finished with him and fell down onto the floor. But the Auror was not in fact done with him.

Bending down, the Auror flipped Harry over so that he was flat on his stomach. “On your hands and knees.” The Auror ordered.

“Yes, uncle.” Reluctantly, Harry obliged, dreading what he knew was to come. Hands parting his cheeks and the hard tip of the Auror's cock was the only warning Harry had before the Auror brutally thrust into his hole. Harry couldn't help but scream in pain. It burned and it felt like he was going to split in two. Brutally, the Auror continued to pound into Harry, and as he continued to thrust, the pain started to numb and the cock was able to penetrate in and out easier and easier. All of a sudden, Harry gasped in pleasure when the cock hit his prostate. The thrusting stopped for a moment, before it continued, hitting the same spot over and over again.

“Scream for me, _boy_.”

And Harry did, the pleasure so intense despite who was doing it to him. Tears started to form on his face as he silently cried in shame and humiliation. Gasping each time his prostate was hit, there was one last thrust before the Auror buried deep inside him and released his seed once more with a shout. Harry too came soon after, giving out his own strangled yell. The Auror stayed inside Harry for a while, with Harry crying beneath him. He was horrified and disgusted at himself. He had enjoyed it. _Enjoyed_ it as if he were some whore.

After what felt like minutes, the Auror finally pulled out of Harry. Not even bothering to chain him up, the Auror locked the cell door and left him lying in cum and a little blood. Harry blacked out soon after.

When Hermione walked in for his daily meal, she ended up dropping the plate and cup in shock. They landed with a crash, the glass shattering on the ground. Harry was still there, lying on the cell floor in dried and crusty cum, his face stained with tears. At hearing the cell door open and Hermione rush in, Harry looked up at her and stared her in the eyes.

With pleading eyes, Harry begged her, even getting on his knees despite the pain that shot up inside him. “Pah-please. Pah-please kah-kill me.” He rasped out, his voice shaky.

“N-no,” Hermione stuttered. “No, Harry. I can't kill you.”

“Pah-please, Huh-Hermione. You owe me a-at least th-this.”

She was hesitant, that Harry could see. She was at war with herself, but she finally came to the conclusion that he was right. She had wronged her friend so much already. The least she could was grant him this one wish. It was merciful, even. With a shaky hand, Hermione raised her wand. She knew she couldn't turn back now. And even if what she was about to do was going to haunt her for the rest of her life, which was going to be considerably shorter once she went through with killing him. Steeling herself, she pointed her wand at Harry's stomach and closed her eyes shut.

“ _Diffindo_!”

 

**_The Present_ **

 

“Master,” a disembodied voice called. “My poor, poor master. Do not worry, I will get your revenge. Death will not end their suffering.” The last part was a whisper, one that Harry didn't catch.

 _Huh?_ Harry thought in confusion when he heard the voice. _Are I not dead?_ Trying to look around, he could only see darkness. It was an endless void, stretching on into infinity.

“Your soul is one soul I cannot, and will not, take.” the voice answered.

_Cannot take?_

“Yes, master,” the voice said. “The day you came into life, you were already destined for death. Just not the death most would assume.”

 _You are…Death?_ Harry thought once he realised he had no mouth—or even a body—to speak out loud. _And why do I not have some sort of body? Not even a form like ghosts?_

“Death, Thanatos, the Grim Reaper, Ankou, Hel, Mors—I go by many and all names, but you may call me what you wish. And it is only this time that you do not have a form. Your consciousness is here with me, but your soul is still by where you died. The next time you appear before me with no mortal body, your soul will follow more easily. Your soul is just not used to wandering away from your body, what with the other times you've died and came back to life, your soul not ever having a chance to separate from your body.”

 _O-okay…Mors…What brings you to me? And why can't I see anything or you?_ Harry thought to Mors, only to mentally smack himself when he realised that Mors was Death and that he himself had just died.

“You died,” Mors said in amusement, knowing what Harry had thought just after he thought that. “And you can't see me because I am Death. I have no body. Not normally, that is. I can, however, make an exception for you.” And with that said, in the darkness, a tall figure appeared. There stood what looked to be a very attractive male, bearing short, black hair, black eyes, and pale skin.

 _Mors?_ Harry asked in surprise.

“Yes, ‘tis I. Now that you can look at me, let's go back to what you are here for. It concerns you about your new title.”

My title? Harry thought with no small amount of trepidation. He was well acquainted with titles, and the responsibilities that can come with them.

“Yes, your title. You are the Master of Death.” Death announced, face completely serious.

_Master of…Death?_

“Yes,” Death said with a smirk. “Are you just going repeat everything I say?”

Embarrassed, Harry mentally face palmed. _You make a fool out of yourself a lot, Harry, but must you really do that in front of Death of all beings too?_ Death’s amused chuckle led to Harry realising that his thoughts were no longer private. He could just die right then and there—if he weren't already dead, that is.

“You are the most amusing and entertaining mortal I have ever come across. And I have come across a lot of mortals,” There was a pause, and then Death continued on. “But back to your title, yes, you are the Master of Death. My master. You have obtained immortality, power beyond belief, and essentially a command over death itself—or myself in this case. You have been gifted every mortal’s dream.”

 _Every mortal!_ Harry yelled in his mind. _I don't want that bloody stupid immortality! And what's power if I'm dead? Although, if I have power over death, can I order you to take my soul to whatever afterlife or no life there is after death?_

“A good try, master, but no, I can't reap your soul even if you ordered me to. And you are no longer mortal, but immortal, so you can no longer be called mortal and contradict my statement.”

_You! You…you completely, bloody bastard! I don't want to be your stupid master! Can't you just, I don't know, take the title away? Give it to someone else? I have plenty people to recommend._

“I cannot be a bastard if I have no parents,” chuckled Death. “The only reason I am even sentient is because you became my master. I used to be what one might call a force of nature; lacking in any sort of personification. But now I have gained a conscious and a form, along with the emotion that entail being sentient. I now know what it is to be selfish, and I have no wish to let you go nor to become what I was once before. And even if you somehow convinced me, the position of Master of Death will only be given to one person ever, and that person is you.”

 _What do I have to do as Master of Death?_ Harry thought resignedly once he realised the futility of his situation.

“Nothing, really. Possibly keep me company and be a source of amusement for me, but other than that, you're free to do anything you want. Except die, that is.”

_Anything?_

“Yes, anything. You really must get rid of that nasty habit of yours, repeating everything I say. You can go to other worlds, universes, dimensions, timelines, wherever you desire. You could be reborn, have unlimited powers, anything.”

 _Timelines?_ Harry asked, his interest being piqued.

“You're repeating me again, master. But yes, timelines. You could relive your life as Harry Potter once again, go back to the founding of Hogwarts, see the Roman Empire fall…” Death trailed off, giving Harry examples of when he could go.

_Could you…could you send me back to Tom Riddle's childhood?_

“Tom Riddle's childhood?” Death repeated, his voice very displeased and his lip slightly curled.

 _Careful now, you're repeating me now,_ Harry thought cheekily.

“Why would you want to go to Tom Riddle’s childhood?” Death asked, completely ignoring Harry's snark.

_To…mess around a little. And get revenge._

“…Revenge on Tom Riddle?”

_No, revenge on Dumblewhore and the Light by making sure ol’ Tommy boy takes over the Wizarding World._

“…That's a disaster just waiting to happen, you know that, right?”

 _You're Death.  Don't you live off that stuff?  And ou said I could do anything I wanted._ Harry mentally pouted an gave Death the puppy dog eyes.

“I suppose I did, didn't I?” Death sighed, sorely regretting his previous words.

_Yes. So I want you to send me back to Tom Riddle's time, my age a year older than him._

“Very well, master.” Death then mumbled lowly to himself, but Harry still could hear what he said. “I'm already regretting what I said.”

 _Yes, well, too late now._ Harry evilly cackled in his mind at Death. _But why are you so against Tom Riddle?_

“That impudent mortal dared try and escape from me. Do you know how annoying it is to have to reap one soul seven times!?” Death was clearly irritated, if their voice was to go by anything.

_Yes, well, are you going to send me back there yet? Or is there like a waiting order or something?_

“No need to be so impatient, master., With that final statement, Harry's conciseness went black. “I hope he likes the gifts I gave him.” Death said out loud to no one once he knew Harry wouldn't be able to hear him.

 

_**Tbc…** _

 


	2. Chapter II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Rape/Non-con memory/nightmare
> 
> Also! I'll be going on a holiday for a week or so and probably won't be able to write much, so there will most likely be no updates.

# Chapter II

 

  
In a brilliant flash of light—one which no one but the rats, who, upon witnessing it, quickly scurried away in fright, would be privy to—Harry's seven year old body landed unceremoniously onto the wet and muddy ground. It was dark and gloomy out, the skies roaring with thunder and the ground being constantly assaulted with rain. He was in an alleyway in what seemed to be in old fashioned London. Cursing Death, or Mors, as Harry decided to call him after very little pondering, he attempted to stand up and find where in London he was, only to slip on a large puddle after hardly even taking a step forward. Standing up once more while rubbing his sore bum, Harry proceeded to walk again—though this time much more carefully.

Exiting the alleyway, Harry scanned his surroundings, trying to discern where exactly he was. Unfortunately for him, everything was so different in 1932 that he wouldn't even have a clue to what part of London he was in. The streets were filled with people, no one really minding or being frightened of the cars passing by. There didn't even seem to be street laws, with everyone jaywalking—even the police did it! But Harry was very grateful that he could see police around since, if his hunch was right, Mors had placed him at least close to Wool’s Orphanage and he could use the police to bring him there.

Walking with hesitant and wary steps, Harry acted like all of the child he seemed like as he approached one of the police making his rounds. With a pale and delicate hand, he walked up behind the policeman and hesitantly tugged on the policeman's sleeve. Startled, as the policeman had not heard Harry approach behind him, he turned around and looked down at whoever was tugging at his sleeve. As the policeman looked down, Harry made sure to keep his head down and his big, green eyes staring up at the policeman. At this point he was soaked to the bones, and the only thing between him and a horrible case of pneumonia was his Wizarding blood.

“Where's your parents, kid?” The policeman kneeled down to Harry's level, face filled with concern. He wore a stiff looking hat and a black uniform, the rain running down it and keeping the man fairly dry.

“Wah-well, um.” Harry started with a stuttered as if he was unsure and nervous.

“Come on, kid,” The policeman said encouragingly. “You can tell me.”

“Daddy, um, told me to wait by a, um, shop,” Harry he said in a small voice. “I, um, I think he said he it was a mat shop?” Internally, Harry was sobbing in relief that he knew some slang from the 1930’s when he had watched one of those old mafia movies. “He said it really funny too.” Harry scrunched his nose cutely as if he thought it was weird.

“Did he happen to pronounce it like mott?” The police asked gravely. “Did he say it was a mott shop?”

“Uh-huh,” Harry nodded his enthusiastically, only for his eyes to start to well up with tears. “Bah-but, I was stah-standing there for ah-hours. Ah-and then it wah-was duh-dark out and I fah-fell asleep. I trah-tried to gah-go in-inside to luh-look for ‘im, ‘ut ‘ey ‘aid ‘e wasn’ ‘ere ‘nymore.” At this point Harry was sobbing and his words were almost incoherent, but the policeman could get the gist of what happened.

With a frown, the policeman patted Harry's damp, shoulder length hair lightly. “Shh, shh, it's alright,” He soothed. “You can come with me.” The policeman gave a reassuring smile.

“Yah-you'll ‘elp me ‘ind ‘im?” Harry asked while looking up with hopefully eyes. “I ‘et ‘e’s lookin’ for me too!” Harry said with hopeful belief.

“I’m sure he is. And I'll be doing my hardest to find him as well,” The policeman lied. “But while we're looking for him you'll have to stay at the orphanage.”

“The orphanage!?” Harry wailed.

“Oh-only for a little while when we're looking for you're father.” The policeman lied once again, slightly at a loss on how to comfort Harry.

“Oh-okay.” Harry mumbled and ducked his head as if he wasn't happy with the answer but would go along with it anyways. In truth, Harry did that to hide the narrowing of his eyes and frown forming on his face at being so blatantly lied to, the betrayal still far too fresh in his mind.

Holding out his hand, the policeman expectantly waited for Harry to grab it. Hesitating for a moment, Harry reached out his own hand and grabbed the policeman’s much larger one. Fully standing up, the policeman gently pulled Harry's hand in a silent command for him to follow. Obliging, Harry gripped the policeman’s hand a little tighter and sped up his gait to try and contend with the policeman's slow but long strides. They walked for a long while, weaving through people and cars and turning from corner to corner. By then, Harry was shivering, and the policeman couldn't help but glance back at him once and awhile in concern. By then the policeman hastened his gate a little bit, but not too much that Harry couldn't keep up. When it seemed like they would just keep on walking forever, they finally stopped in front of rather rundown and dreary building.

It was large and made of bricks, the building kind of reminded Harry of an old factory building. In the front was a gate which had the words “Wool’s Orphanage” on it. Glancing at Harry, the policeman pulled his hand again and led him inside the building.

The inside was as dreary as the outside, but it at least looked fairly well kept. There was a long hall with many doors and also a staircase that lead to another long hallway. Leading Harry through the hall with an ease that told him that the policeman had done this before, Harry was led to a slightly larger door than the others. Lifted his right hand, the policeman gave four successive knocks on the door and waited. After a moment, a woman's voice called from behind the door.

“Come in!” She said.

Opening the door, they were both greeted with the site of a well maintained but certainly not lavish office. At the centre, just in front of a window, was a desk where a woman sat. Her skin was pale and her hair grey. Add the fact that she looked very worn out, she looked way past her years. At the corner of her desk was a thin nameplate which read “Mrs Cole” in black letters.

“Another one?” She said with a sigh.

The policeman nodded and approached the desk. “Would you wait outside while I explain your situation?”

With a hesitant shake of his head, Harry turned around and exited the office, the door closing behind him. Harry, however, had no intentions of missing out on what they were going to be talking about, and quickly pressed his ear to the door.

“What's his situation?” Mrs Cole asked.

“His father left him outside a whorehouse,” The policeman bluntly said. “And I'd doubt that his father would want him back.”

“And what of the situation does that child understand?” Mrs Cole asked hesitantly.

“He…he believes his father will come back looking for him.” The policeman said with a weary sigh.

“I see,” Mrs Cole said neutrally. “So it's another hopeful.”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Well,” Mrs Cole sighed. “I suppose you have a job to go back to?”

“Yes.”

And with that last reply, the policeman walked towards the door, his shoes making soft taps on the floor. Harry quickly removed himself from the door and nonchalantly leaned against the wall as if he was patiently waiting for them to finish. When the door opened, Harry put on a hopeful face and looked up at the policeman.

“So you'll look for him while I stay here?” Harry asked, trying to install as much guilt within the policeman as he could. And, if the minute wince was anything to go by, it had worked.

“Of course, kid,” The policeman said. “Take care of yourself now.” The policeman ruffled his hair and then walked past him and left, the door shutting behind him and leaving Harry alone. Peering into the office, Harry saw the matron of the orphanage getting out paperwork.

All of a sudden, she snapped her head up and gave a cold glare. “Come in!”

Following her command, Harry walked into the office and watched her warily. _Talk about two-faced,_ Harry thought with both amusement and annoyance.

“Your name, boy.” She said, her voice carrying it out more like an order than a question.

Barely suppressing a flinch at that particular word, Harry answered with slight hesitation. “…Peverell. Hadrian Peverell.”

Looking down at the papers on her desk, the matron started writing what would assumedly be Harry's name down. “You will address me as ma'am or Mrs Cole,” She ordered sternly. “Age and birthday.” She continued on without even looking up.

“Seven, ma'am,” Harry replied. That got her to look up and eye him suspiciously. “I didn't eat a lot, ma'am.” Harry said, trying to convince her of his truthfulness. After eying him for a little bit longer, she nodded and went back to writing back on the papers. “And my birthday is July 31st, 1925…ma'am.” Harry added and then hastily said “ma’am” at the end all the while thinking moodily in his head, _This is going to get old. It's going to get old real fast._

“Uh-huh, any allergies? Medical problems?” She said uninterestedly, showing no true concern for him. Though the fact that she didn't raise a fuss about his wet and cold state already hinted that she had no concern for him.

“Not that I know of, ma'am.”

“Uh-huh. You'll be rooming with the boy in room 396, first floor. He's the only room available since the orphanage is very full,” She said while looking up once again and setting a key on the table. “Don't lose the key. And hesitate to report anything…strange that happens around him,” She said with an uncharacteristic bit of concern—but it was still a very small amount. “Now go and leave me in peace.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Grabbing the key and placing it in his trouser pocket, Harry turned around and went to leave, only to be stopped by one last passing remark from the matron.

“Oh, and Hadrian,” She started, making Harry turn his head to look at her. “Your father's not coming back for you.” She said with a cruel sneer.

If he were any other child, he would have burst into tears and probably had a mini-meltdown. But since he was not, he kept his face impassive and exited the office with unfaltering steps. Walking down the hall, Harry came back to the tall tall staircase he had seen in passing. Walking up the stairs, he arrived to the first floor and looked at the first door he saw. _328_ it read. Walking passed the door, he continued to pass door by door in his search for room number 396 when he finally came upon it at the very end of the hall. Testing the door to see if it was locked, he found that it was and went to unlock the door with the key when he was hit with a sudden idea.

Putting the key back in his pocket, Harry tried to cast an _Alohomora_ and silently cheered when he heard the tell tale click of a lock. Now knowing he could perform wandless magic, Harry quickly made use of it and dried his clothing. Opening the door, Harry saw two cots, one on the right and one on the left. There wasn't much in the room and it was rather small, but it was certainly better than the cupboard under the stairs he had to stay in at the Dursleys. A dark wardrobe was against the wall and there was one window that looked out. Trying to see which cot was already taken, Harry chose the one on the right to be his own when he spotted a book on the left cot. Walking towards his cot, Harry let out a huge sigh and tumbled face first onto it, soon drifting off to sleep. It was hours later—around dinner time—when he was disturbed from his rest by the sound of a door opening.

“What are you doing in my room?” A boy's voice asked in irritation.

Lifting himself up and turning around, Harry was met with the sight of a five year old Tom Riddle. Harry couldn't help but internally coo in the deepest, darkest parts of his mind at how adorable he looked in knee high socks and shorts.

“I'm the ghost of a poor murdered soul that happened when this orphanage just started out,” Harry said sarcastically, and waited a moment while Tom just deadpanned and waited for a serious answer. “Alright, alright. Hadrian Peverell, at your service,” Harry gave a mock bow at this. “And I was assigned to this room, why else would I be here lying on this cot?” Harry made sure to add a bit of snark in his voice, knowing full well that Tom was intelligent enough at this age to catch it.

Gritting his teeth, Tom walked over to his side of the room and sat on his cot, clearly very unhappy. “Touch my things and you won't like the consequences. You will follow my command.” Tom said, the last sentence being in parseltongue and practically oozing with magic akin to an imperious curse. Unfortunately for Tom, Harry was unaffected.

“Uh-huh, whatever you say,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. “On a latter note, when do they serve dinner? Or do they serve supper instead?” Harry asked, only to be ignored by Tom. “Did I miss it already?” Harry asked another question, but was ignored once again. “I'll keep bothering you until you answer me,” He gave Tom a chance to answer before continuing on with his questions. “Also, when is breakfast? And lunch? And do we ever leave this place? Will I be able to—”

“Alright!” Tom snapped, cutting Harry off from his insistent questions. “I'll answer you if you'll just be quiet!”

“See? That wasn't so hard now, Tom.” Harry teased him.

With a frustrated growl, Tom gave Harry an impressive glare, but it was nowhere near the level of Snape’s glare. “No, you didn't miss dinner. They serve it at seven o'clock and its six right now. Breakfast is at eight and lunch is at noon. Yes, we leave sometimes to go shopping or to places like the library. Every Sunday we have to go to church—”

“ _Church?_ ” Harry asked in a despairing tone.

“Yes, _church_ ,” Tom repeated with a slight agreeing edge to his voice at Harry's obvious dislike of the idea. “You've got your answers, now stop pestering me.”

“Stingy.” Harry just replied and dove beneath the covers, missing the insulted look Tom wore and another irritated glare. Silence filled the room, only Tom turning the pages of a book being heard. Harry, on the other hand, was lost in thought, having not had any time to think about what he went through during his imprisonment. He was so lost in thought that before he knew it, he heard the sound of the door opening and closing. Casting a Tempus, Harry found it to be seven o'clock. Tom had left without even telling him it was dinner, and Harry couldn't help but twitch in annoyance.

Tossing the covers away from him, Harry quickly got off of his cot and exited the room—quickly locking the door with a spell as an afterthought. Catching sight of Tom, Harry quickly followed him, having no clue where the dining hall was. Defending down the stair and taking a few turns, they arrived to a large room filled to the brim with children. With sure steps, Tom entered the line to get the slop that is supposedly their dinner and sat at an empty table—which no one had sat at despite some people having to share a seat or sit on the floor—in the corner of the room. Mimicking what Tom did, Harry waited in line and got served the reddish slop. Looking around the room, Harry decided to hell with it and approached toms table. Placing his tray down on the seat across from Tom, Harry sat down.

“What are you doing here?” Tom asked with a menacing look. Or as menacing as a six year old child could look.

“Why sitting, of course.” Harry said cheekily, not wanting to pass up the chance to bug Tom.

“I know that you're sitting. I'm asking why you're sitting _here_. With _me_.” He hissed out.

“Because there were no other available tables of course.” Harry said simply.

“How about the floor? I'm sure you'd be right at home.”

“And you would certainly know all about that, huh?”

“ _Leave!_ ” Tom hissed in parseltongue, radiating cold fury.

“No.”

“ _What?_ ” Tom asked, partly out of confusion that his compulsion didn't work and partly out of anger that Harry refused his order.

“I said no. No need to get so worked up over it, Tom.”

“Listen to your elders.” Tom said, trying to use the I'm older than you card.

“Oh? And how old are you?” Harry asked.

“Five.”

“Well, then it should be you who listens to me. I'm seven, two year older than you are,” Harry said smugly. Tom just frustratedly ate his slop more quickly, soon finishing it. Standing up from the table, Tom placed his tray on a pile of dirty trays and left the dining hall. “So sensitive.” Harry muttered in amusement. He knew it was rather unfair, considering he was technically an eighteen year old picking on someone thirteen years his junior, but he just couldn't help it. Little Tom was just so fun to rile up.

Finishing his food, Harry went to leave as well, only to be stopped by a taller, blond haired boy. “You should be careful,” The boy said. “That freak has done some really bad things. He never gets caught, but we all know he did it.”

Angry on Tom's behalf when the boy called him a freak, Harry turned cold eyes which help a certain glint onto the boy. “Yes, it would be quite unfortunate, but don't worry about little ol’ me. I'd be more worried that something bad will happen to you.” And with that, Harry gave an absolutely devious smirk and turned on his heel and left the dining hall, knowing full well that he had made some enemies.

Returning to room 396, Harry entered to find Tom sitting on his bed reading again. Ignoring him for now, Harry plopped onto his bed and buried underneath the covers. Drifting off to sleep, Harry was in for a rough night.

_Slamming into his old bed at the Dursleys, Harry looked up to see the looming figure of his Uncle Vernon. He was naked, his fat and pudgy body making Harry want to throw up in revulsion. Rough hands flipped him over onto his belly and pulled down his pants._

_“Don't make a sound, freak,” Uncle Vernon said and shoved his thick length inside him. His hole was burning in pain, blood welling up from it and acting as lube._

_Harry just ignored him and screamed and pleaded in pain. “Pah-please stop, Uncle Vernon! Pah-please stop! Let me go!”_

_“What was that, freak?” Uncle Vernon asked in rage. “You dare disobey me?” At this point he started to brutally pound in and out with Harry pressed up against his ratty old bed and clawing at the sheets. His eyes were wide and filled with fear as he let out a choked sob. Uncle Vernon fucked him raw, holding no mercy at all. Harry just screamed and kept on screaming, his voice going hoarse._

_Strangely, his body started to shake ask and forth. That continued before he heard a voice calling._

_“Hadrian!” It said. “Hadrian wake up!” It continued. “Wake—”_

“—up! Hadrian! Wake up!” Tom said loudly, but not quite shouted while shaking his body. Surprisingly, Tom had slight concern in his voice. With a gasp, Harry shot his eyes open and looked up and around widely, trying to gain his bearings. Not even thinking, Harry gripped at Tom’s form, holding him in a vice-like grip. Startled, Tom took a step back, only to take the shaking form of Harry with him. Trying to pry Harry off to no avail, Tom made a sound in annoyance as he tried to think what to do. It was the middle of the night and he was tired and very cranky. So, with a tired sigh and not even really thinking about it, Tom dragged Harry back to his bed and crawled in, Harry still clinging to his chest. It was quite soon that they both fell asleep. This time, Harry's sleep was uninterrupted by his nightmares of the past.

Waking up the next morning, Harry felt warm. Unnaturally so. And he was very comfy as well, which was odd considering how stiff his cot was. Opening his eyes and blinking blearily, Harry tried to see where he was and was faced with something blue-greyish with buttons. Clothing. Looking farther up, he came face to nose with none other than Tom. Squeaking, Harry jerked back and tumbled onto the floor, taking one Tom Riddle with him. Landing on his back with a groan, Harry looked up to see the irritated and very awake face of Tom.

“Hadrian!” Tom hissed.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Harry exclaimed. “I was surprised, that's all.” With a growl, Tom pushed himself up from the floor and pulled the sheets from under Harry, making him tumble again.

“ _Tom!_ ” Harry said annoyed. “Why was I in your bed?”

“You mean when I had to wake you from your bloody nightmare and then decided to cling to me like a leech in the middle of the night?” Tom asked rhetorically, his face glaring down at him.

“Oh.” Harry blushed in embarrassment and sat up.

“Yes, oh.”

Standing up, Harry looked down at himself, still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. “Will I ever be able to get pyjamas too?” Harry asked, completely changing the subject.

“Yes.” Tom said.

“Hmm,” Harry hummed. “Could I borrow your clothes for now?” Harry asked.

“What?” Tom asked incredulously. “No, of course not!”

“Why not?”

“Because they are _my_ clothes!”

“So? You could share.”

“Yes, but I _don't_ share.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“ _Please?_ ”

“ _No_.”

“ _Ple—_ ”

“Alright!” Tom finally conceded. “Gah!” He yelled in frustration and pulled at his hair. “You! _You!_ I can't deal with you this early in the morning!” Tom pointed his finger at him and then turned to his wardrobe. Grabbing his needed clothes, he exited the room with a slam of the door, presumably going to the bathroom.

With a victorious grin, Harry went to the wardrobe as well and grabbed a tan shirt and brown shorts. He also grabbed a pair of one of those knee high socks he saw Tom wearing. Putting the clothes on, he found them to be a little too big for him, but it wasn't as bad as Dudley's cast always. Turning and walking to Tom’s cot, he grabbed his book and Transfigured it into a mirror. Looking at himself, Harry couldn't help but gag at his rather dainty and—dare he say— _feminine_ appearance. Him and Mors were going to have some serious words, as he was pretty sure he didn't look like this as a child. He thinks, that is. Turning the mirror back into a book, Harry placed it back carefully where it was before exiting the room to find the bathroom.

At wandering for a while and having no luck Harry decided his appearance was good enough and walked to the dining hall, having no trouble remembering the way from years of wandering the confusing halls of Hogwarts. Entering, the dining hall, he found that it was slop once again, this time a tannish grey. Must be oatmeal, Harry thought. Or, I hope so at least. Tom was also already there, sitting at his table and eating. Grabbing his food, Harry sat exactly where he was during dinner last night. Tom merely looked up and glared at him before going back to his slop and ignoring him. They ate in silence, until surprisingly, Tom broke it.

“Whose Uncle Vernon?” He asked while looking up and staring into Harry's green eyes.

“No one.” Harry stiffly answered, his body tense.

“You were screaming in your sleep. Saying things like ‘Please stop, Uncle Vernon!’ and so on.” Tom replied, but there was no hint of mocking in his voice.

“I said no one,” Harry said more harshly. “Plus, why would you care?”

“You are right,” Tom said, his posture becoming more stiff. “I don't care. I was simply…curious.”

For some reason, that hurt Harry more than he thought it would, but he just stomped the feeling down with ease and ignored it. Finishing his food, Harry stood up and left in a sour mood. Wandering the halls, Harry finally found and exit to the outside. Opening it, Harry stepped out to the caged scenery of green grass and some trees. He did not like the iron fence that felt so much closer than they were, but it was better than nothing. Drifting across the backyard in a daze, Harry didn't realise someone was coming towards him before he was plowed down by the same blond kid he had talked to last night.

“Oh, sorry,” The kid said while reaching a hand down. “Ah, you were that kid sitting at Tom Riddle’s table.” The boy said in recognition.

Gratefully, Harry gripped it and used it to pull himself up with the aid of the kid. “No worries,” Harry relied. “And yes, I was. You were the one that tried to warn me about him.”

“I'm Billy,” The kid, Billy, introduced. “And I really meant it. One time, Eric stole his book and then ended up with a broken arm while Amy insulted him and then fell out of a tree.”

“Hadrian. And all those reasons are quite speculative and could very well be a coincidence. He is also a well enough person, if not a little…vexing.” This time Harry took his time to examine him. He was taller than him, though nearly everyone was, and he wasn't scrawny but he wasn't strongly built either. Though that could be attributed to the fact that the meals at the orphanage were complete shite.

“Well, I can sort of see why the freak wouldn't outright try ta kill ya” Billy scrunched his face. “You talk really similar to him, using all those big words and speaking like…like…like that.” Billy finished lamely.

“Well, I suppose I do.” Harry said with a frown while thinking, _Of course, considering I'm eighteen years old and he's a bloody annoying genius. Though I really don't like Billy, using that word so much._

“So, do wanna be friends?” Billy asked.

At that question, he slightly paused, thinking back on the specific words billy was prone to use. Knowing that he really didn't want to be friends with him, he hastily tried to think of a way to get out of the situation. He tried to think of an excuse first, but then realised that wouldn't work. The only ways to get out of friendship was to outright reject Billy or to get him to hate him. Trying to think of a solution, Harry thought he was going to have to outright refuse Billy’s offer when the answer came in the form of an angrily approaching Tom Riddle. Harry just couldn't tell if he would be his saviour to his dilemma or an entirely new problem he'd have to deal with.

 

_**Tbc…** _


	3. Chapter III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My eyes hurt. I don't know why I keep writing this at way too early in the morning. 
> 
> On a latter note, surprise! I just couldn't resist posting another chapter (even though I'm on a holiday. What the bloody hell was I thinking?).
> 
> Please tell me any mistakes I made (I wrote this on my tablet. Better than on a phone but worse than on a computer. I absolutely loathe autocorrect now).

# Chapter III

 

“Tom?” Harry asked as Tom approached them, confused as to why he looked so angry. “Are you alright?” Tom just ignored Harry's question and grabbed his wrist harshly. It was so harsh that a bruise would most likely form later on Harry's pale skin.

Turning cold eyes towards Billy, Tom glared and commanded in parseltongue. “ _Stay away from him!”_ Billy, scared out of his wits, nodded his head and turned around. He fled quickly from the pair, finding sanctuary within the orphanage walls. Or temporary sanctuary, at least.

“Tom!” Harry said with wide eyes while tugging his wrist in a futile attempt to escape. “What are you doing!” Harry was very confused at Tom's actions. Especially considering what had just recently happened in the dining hall. Tom, however, just ignored him once again and dragged him back into the orphanage. Harry was dragged through long and winding halls and then up the large staircase. It was only until they reached door number 496, their room, and entered that Tom stopped.

Finally letting go of Harry's wrist, which was now surely going to bruise, Tom shut the door loudly and locked it. Turning around with his back to the door, Tom stared at Harry with an indiscernible look in his eyes. But there was one emotion that Harry could see clear as day in his eyes. Anger. Full blown, pissed as hell anger. Harry had no clue as to why Tom was so angry. And quite frankly, he didn't care. All that was going on in Harry's head were memories best left forgotten of angry faces and the pain that came with them. Harry's breath quickened and his face became even paler than it naturally was. Stepping back slowly and carefully, Harry continued backing away from Tom until his back hit the corner of the wall. At reaching the corner, Harry slid down until he was on the floor and curled into himself, making himself as small as possible.

Tom, at seeing Harry's behaviour, quickly clued together what was making Harry act the way he was and made quick work of trying to school his features. Closing his dark eyes, Tom mentally counted to ten in his head and then let out a quick, calming breath. Opening his eyes once more, Tom's face was once again an impassive mask. But there was still emotion in his eyes, despite how much he may try to hide it. It wasn't anger. No, not anymore. Tom had successfully curbed that emotion. But there was still that one indiscernible emotion which lingered in his eyes. At the moment, however, Harry couldn't bring himself to try and decipher it.

Slowly, like one would approach a wild animal, Tom walked towards Harry with silent steps. “Harry,” Tom said softly. “Look at at me, Harry.” Harry just ignored Tom and ducked his head beneath his arms. He was no longer hiding in fright but instead in shame and embarrassment. It had not take him long to remember who it was that stood before him in the room, and his tortured reminiscence was quickly replaced with a large dose of self loathing. He was berating himself for showing such weakness in front of Tom Riddle, the future Dark Lord. He could, and most certainly would in Harry's mind, exploit such a weakness later on.

A hand softly touching his arm startled Harry out of his stewing thoughts, making his head snap up quickly and come face to face with the close—way too close—face of Tom Riddle. His dark eyes seemed to be staring intently at his own, analysing and trying to look deeply into Harry's soul for answers he would otherwise have trouble finding. They spent a long while in their staring match until Tom was the first to break it, Harry's poisonous, green eyes too much to for Tom to handle. For now, that is. Standing back up, Tom looked down at Harry's mop of raven hair, considering his next course of action. Turning around, Tom went back to his bed and picked up his book as if the events prior never happened.

“I,” Harry started, slightly surprised at the minute rasp in his voce. “I still want to know why you were so angry,” Harry couldn't resist not knowing, and despite his breakdown before, he was determined to find out. “And before you refuse, I'll just bug you until you answer me.” Harry added for extra measures.

“I cannot tell you,” Tom started earned a sharp look from Harry—who was entirely prepared to annoy the answer out of him. “Because I do not know the answer myself.” he finished and Harry's look lost its sharpness and gained confusion.

“What?” Harry asked, not really understanding how he couldn't know.

“I don't know why I was angry,” Tom rephrased his answer. “Thus, I cannot tell you.”

“How can you not know why?”

“I don't know why I don't know why. The concept of knowing is rather obscure and it is never truly attainable.” Tom said, trying to confuse Harry and make him leave the subject alone. But alas, it was not meant to be, for Harry had a—very—secret love for knowledge and puzzles. He had never been able to show it, what with all the events that were happening around him and the people he was exposed to. That did not mean, however, that his passion wasn't pursued. He would spend hours upon hours in the middle of the night or during the times he disappeared in Hogwarts to quench his thirst. And so, unlike with the other kids of Wool’s Orphanage, Tom wouldn't be able to spin circles around him with fancy words and large concepts.

“ _Tom_.” Harry stressed his name, knowing that he would understand what Harry was asking for.

“Alright!” Tom conceded. He knew he was in a losing battle with Harry—as always—but he couldn't help but at least try and get one over him. “I went looking for you after breakfast and I saw you outside with Billy and got inexplicably angry.” Tom quickly dove into the covers on his cot—despite it not even being midday—signalling that the conversation was over.

“Oh.” Harry uttered with furrowed brows, not being able to come up with a reply to what Tom said. Not knowing what else to do, and knowing that he would soon become stir crazy if he stayed all day in his room, Harry stood up and walked to the door. Making one last glance at Tom, Harry turned the doorknob and left the room. Little did Harry know that his infamous luck—which followed him through time—would strike once again.

Walking through the halls, Harry descended the stairs and returned to where he was outside. Scanning the backyard, Harry gave a contented hum at seeing that no one was outside with him. Spotting a rather large maple, Harry went towards it with full intentions to climb it. Reaching the rough bark, Harry dig his fingers into the small grooves running up the tree bark and tensed his arms. Slowly and carefully, Harry lifted his feet up onto the bark and started to climb. He also added a silent sticking charm onto his hands and feet, since, while technically he had the mind of an adult, he did not have the muscle of one.

Once he reached a certain point up the tree—which was where the branches started to protrude—Harry gripped the branch closest. Straining his small body, he pulled himself up—there were admittedly a few tries before he was able to. Smiling in satisfaction, Harry continued to climb higher and higher unto he was nearly a good eight meters above the ground. Deciding that he was high enough, Harry settled onto one of the tree branches and leaned back onto the tree trunk. Closing his eyes, Harry let out a sigh at the sound of wildlife all around him. Being stuck in his cell for so many months had made him miss the sound and feel of nature. He also could have moaned in delight at the feel of his magical core once again.

Harry's consciousness started to drift. He didn't know when he fell asleep—but then most do not—but the last thing he remembered was the warmth of the sun rays and the sound of birds chirping.

_“Master.” Mors said in greeting while appearing before him. They were in a world of white. Harry couldn't tell where the ground started nor the sky ended. It had an empty feel to it, the voidness of anything but themselves making Harry slightly nervous. But it was certainly better than the endless abyss Harry had encountered the first time. He even had a body to move and feel unlike before when he was bodiless._

_“Mors,” Harry greeted in the same matter. “Can you just call me Harry?”_

_“Very well, ma-Harry.” Death said with slight difficulty._

_“Thank you,” Harry said. “Where am I?” Harry asked while gesturing all around him._

_“You are at the beginning of the beginning and the end of the end.” Mors stated._

_“The beginning of the beginning and the end of—what?” Harry started, only to cut himself off and ask Mors what he meant. Harry had no idea what Mors meant by that statement. It was paradoxical and just so confusing despite Harry's love for such things. But then again, he was up against Death._

_“There are no explanations I can give you that you could understand currently,” Mors stated. “Wait a few millennia and ask me again.”_

_“Well now I want to hear it even more.” Harry pouted._

_“Very well, master,” sighed Mors. “The beginning of the beginning and the end of the end is essentially what it is called yet not. I am what many would refer to the end of the end, but in truth I am the beginning of the beginning as well. This is my domain, and where you appear is in the end of the end. Before, when you were met with the endless darkness, you were in the beginning of the beginning. Do you follow me so far?”_

_“Yes,” Harry nodded. “Well, sort of,” Harry amended sheepishly. “What exactly is the beginning of the beginning and the end of the end? And why are you both the beginning of the beginning and the end of the end?”_

_Reaching up a pale hand, Mors pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting for indulging his masters curiosity. “Fine. This is the simplest explanation I can give you, so don't complain,” Mors gave a heavy sigh and closed his dark eyes. Opening them once again after a few moments, Mors started his explanation. “The beginning of beginnings—which is ultimately the easier concept of the two—is the beginning of everything but also the beginning of the end of anything. It is a beginning where there is no such thing as anything but there is such a thing as nothing. Nothing is the beginning but the beginning is not nothing. The beginning of the end is synonymous with nothing and anything but not synonymous with everything._

_The end of the end, on the other hand, is the end of everything but also the beginning of anything and nothing. It is also where there is no such thing as anything, but everything is in existence as well. Anything and nothing are interchangeably relative to everything, while nothing and everything are irrespective of anything. The end is the beginning but the beginning not the end. The end, however, may be the beginning but it is also everything and synonymous with anything. Everything is not the beginning, that is anything, but anything and the end have a correlative bond through their connection with nothing. Nothing, however, has a capricious relationship with the beginning of the beginning and the end of the end—which is not and should not be confused with the beginning of the beginning and the end of the end in their separate meanings._

_I, Death, am the beginning of the beginning and the end of the end. You, being my master and holding control over death, are the end of the end and the beginning of the beginning—which is not to be thought as synonymous with the beginning of the beginning and the end of the end. The reason I am both is because I am the end of anything and nothing and the beginning of everything. Everything's beginning is my end while anything's end is my beginning. Nothing is the beginning of my everything and the end of my anything. Thus, I am the beginning of the beginning and the end of the end. You, however, are an entirely different story. You are the end of the end and the beginning of the beginning, and just thinking about that gives me a headache, nevermind trying to explain it to you.”_

_“_ You _a headache!?” Harry exclaimed incredulously with his mouth agape. “What about me!? I have no bloody clue what you just said! Bloody hell!”_

_“I warned you, master,” Mors said with a deadpan look. “But you just had to insist.”_

_Shaking his head as if he were getting rid of what seemed as nonsense to him, Harry steered the subject to another burning question he had had when death appeared before him. “Um, anyway,” Harry cleared his throat. “What am I doing here with you anyways?”_

_Mors gave an amused smirk at the fact he had thoroughly confounded his master. “Yes, the reason I have brought you here is…well, no reason really.” Mors finished lamely._

_“No reason!?” Harry asked incredulously._

_“Uh, no?” Lips in a pout, Harry stared at death. “Well, I was just bored, really,” Harry just kept looking at Mors. “I'll grant you one favour?” Mors asked, trying to get back into Harry's good graces._

_With a wicked smirk, Harry quickly said what he wanted. “I want to be able to perform necromancy.”_

_“You…you did that on purpose, didn't you?” Mors asked, annoyed that Harry had gotten one up on him so soon after Mor’s victory._

_“Yep,” Harry simply replied, popping the p with his lips. “So, about my favour?”_

_“Necromancy? Sure, that is simple enough considering who I am. But why necromancy?”_

_“You'll just have to wait and find out.” Harry said with a secretive smile. Mors wore a slight frown, but otherwise accepted the answer. Opening his mouth, Harry went to say something when he felt a sharp sting on his head. Looking around, he also noticed that Mors and the beginning of the beginning and the end of the end began to waver and fade. Another sharp pain, this time to his arm, and Harry shot his eyes open, the last image being of Mor’s face becoming angry and frowning even more._

Slightly disoriented, Harry nearly fell off the branch he was resting on while trying to gain his bearings. Just as he was about to look around, there was another sharp pain from his head. But this time Harry could tell from which direction it came from. Looking down, Harry saw the figures of Billy and some other kids along with him staring up at Harry in the tree, stones in their hands.

“Hey!” Harry shouted with a bit of anger. “What do you think you are doing!?”

“Shut up!” The brunette one that stood next to billy shouted in reply.

“Yeah! Shut up!” The other blond next to Billy shouted. “You and the freak were threatening us!”

“Threatening?” Harry asked.

“Yeah! Threatening!” The brunette shouted.

“Yesterday during dinner ya threatened Billy!”

“And today that freak went all hissy on Billy and you went with him!”

Oh, Harry thought sheepishly for what he had done last night. “How does that threaten you two then? That only involved Billy.” Harry added once he thought about it.

“It…it just does.” The brunette said.

“Yeah.” The blonde agreed.

“So now you'll pay for siding with the freak!” Billy declared.

Knowing that he probably should get onto the ground, Harry hickey tried to climb down before they did anything drastic. But unfortunately for him, Billy had picked up a rock that was larger than the others and chucked it at him. Surprised, Harry wasn't able to dodge in time and was struck right in the side of his head. Head dizzy and vision spotted with black dots, Harry didn't even notice himself falling. As if I'm slow motion, Harry fell out of the tree and met the ground with a sickening _thump_ along with the sound of breaking bones. The boys, at witnessing Harry's fall, started to scream “He's dead he's dead.” and ran away in fright. And they were actually quite correct. Harry was dead. But the concept of being dead meant little for the master of death.

Opening his eyes, Harry was once again met with the endless void of darkness just as he had when he died before. He really didn't like where he was. Sighing, Harry widened his eyes in shock and then smiled brightly when he realised that he actually _could_ smile. His body was—well, technically his his soul—was able to follow him to wherever he was this time. He also felt what seemed to be arms wrapped around him. But instead of panicking or hyperventilating, Harry felt strangely content. Safe, even. Craning his neck to look who, or possible what, was behind him, his own eyes met the black eyes of Mors. Surprised, Harry tried to struggle out of Mors grip and face him, but Mors only tightened his grip and held him tightly.

“Harry,” Mors said, his voice upset. “Would you like them to suffer as you have?” Mors whispered into his ear. “To know to never mess with you again?” At Mor’s words, Harry remembered how Billy and his friends had thrown rocks at him and how he was struck in the head and fell to his death. Nodding his head, Harry agreed. He wanted them to _hurt_. Smirking in satisfaction, Mors whispered in his ear once again. “How?”

“I want them _terrified_. Terrified to sleep, terrified to wake, terrified of _everything_.” Harry said darkly. He knew he should have felt guilt or shame at his wishes, but he just simply didn't.

As if knowing his thoughts, Mors replied. “That would be my doing. Because you are the master of death we are essentially connected. Your emotions to things otherwise horrifying to mortals become more, how should I say, _dulled_ because they mean little to me. And your judgement becomes less emotional and more logical, for I am death. And, while I have gained a sentient form, it would do no good for death to become unfair. I come to mortals when it is their time, no matter what they are or have done. Torture doesn't really mean much to me—unless it is performed on you—so it doesn't mean much to you.”

“But I feel a need for revenge against the light. That is a strong emotion.” Harry countered.

“True,” Mors said. “Normally, you would not feel such a strong wish for revenge. But _I_ feel the need to bring retribution to them on your behalf, so you still retain your need for revenge. If I didn't feel such a thing, you would be content with just waiting for when they die.”

“Oh,” Harry said and a short moment of silence followed. “Will I always come to this black void every time I die? And how long would I stay here?”

“You can make this place look like anything you wish a and you may stay here as long as you wish.”

Perking up at what death said, Harry imagined the place to be the Forbidden Forest. Looking around in awe as trees and plants started to appear along with various other types of life, Harry started to walk a familiar path. Weaving through the forest with ease that spoke of years of wandering the Forbidden Forest, Harry came upon a crystal clear lake. It had become a safe haven of his when he stumbled upon it in his fourth year. Smiling happily, Harry excitedly ran over to the lake dove right in, clothing and all. Off to the side Mors stood, smiling himself at his master's joy. Harry spent hours just swimming and relaxing in the lake, his body—or soul, really—never getting tired. It was only when the moon and stars started to shine brightly that Harry realised with a jerk that he had to go back. For all he knew he could have been declared dead and already buried.

Chuckling at Harry's thoughts, Mors relieved Harry's worries. “Don't worry, Harry. I made sure to make your body go into a coma while you're here. You can go back whenever you want and won't have to worry about waking up in a coffin. If you go back now it would have been a few days, but you also could go back to when you died if you wanted. Though I will only send you back for a maximum of a few days since they do not have the technology to keep coma patients for long.”

“Ah, yes, thank you. I would like to go back now.” Harry said.

“Goodbye, Harry. I will see you again. You don't have to die to see me.” Mors joked.

Sputtering at Mors, Harry's vision wavered and he woke to the familiar sight of a white ceiling. He was in a hospital, laying in a white bed. He never could understand why everything had to be so _white_ in hospitals. Looking around, Harry spotted the back of a nurse.

“Hello?” Harry croaked out, his voice shaky from thirst and disuse. The nurse quickly turned around and zeroed her eyes onto him. She had light, olive skin and blond hair along with a large bust. But other than that, she was rather plane and that forgettable look to her.

“Shh, just sit tight honey,” her soothing voice said. “I'm going to get the doctor.” Turning around, she left through the door and Harry was left alone. Looking around, Harry found that he was in his own hospital room. There was just his bed and another door to the right that presumably led to the bathroom. Thoughts wandering, Harry hardly registered the door opening, but he did notice the person who walked in when they approached him and cleared his throat.

“I am Doctor Asheworth,” the doctor said. “How are you feeling? Any dizziness or disorientation? Nausea?” Harry just shook his head and put up a slightly confused face, knowing he had an act to keep up. “Good, good. Do you remember what happened?”

Putting on a contemplative look on his face, Harry shook his head. “I fell.”

“Yes, you fell from quite high up. You are very lucky, Mr. Peverell,” the doctor said. “We also found that you had some minor head trauma and bruising on your wrist. Do you know how that happened?” Thinking quickly, Harry decided that he wouldn't tell the identity of the rock throwers. That would be too merciful, for there would be a large chance they would be removed from the orphanage.

“No. I just remember a rock coming towards me and three figures at the bottom of the tree. After that I fell and then everything went black.”

“Uh-huh,” The doctor nodded and then approached him. Checking his injuries and any indication that Harry needed to stay in the hospital for any longer. “And your wrist?”

“I…I don't know.” Harry feigned ignorance, not really wanting to rat out Tom.

“Okay, it seems that you are perfectly healthy,” the doctor said ceasing in checking Harry. “You have a very fast healing rate. We'll keep you for one more day and then we'll release you from the hospital. Alright?” The doctor gave a kind smile and Harry nodded his head once again. Turning around, the doctor exited the room and Harry was left to his thoughts once more.

The next day Harry was released at twelve o'clock in the morning. It was Mrs Cole who came to pick him up. She was extremely unhappy if the deep frown and hard set face was any indication. But she was also feeling extra nosey. When they finally arrived back at the orphanage, she led him to her office. Sitting down at her desk, Mrs Cole looked over at him.

“Did Tom Riddle have anything to do with what happened?” Mrs Cole asked in suspicion.

“No,” Mrs Cole gave him a sharp look. “No ma’am.”

“How do you know?” She asked unconvinced. “Didn't you not see who did it?”

“I didn't but there was three figures at the bottom of the tree. Tom doesn't really hang out with people so it's illogical that he would gang up with two other people all of a sudden.” Mrs Cole looked at him some more, weighing his words. After a few minutes of thought, she finally agreed with a shake of her head.

“You may leave now.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

Turning around, Harry left the office and headed towards his room, not really in the mood for dealing with the other kids nor for eating at the moment. Opening the door, Harry was surprised to see Tom sitting on his cot, reading his book. Closing the door behind him, Harry walked over to his cot and looked at Tom across from him. They just just that, across from each other, for minutes on end in silence. Finally, after realising that Tom wasn't going to be socialising anytime soon, Harry crawled under the covers and turned his back to him. Closing his eyes, Harry was fully prepared to fall asleep and ignore Tom. Just as he was about to fall asleep, however, he felt arms encircle his waist and drag him out.

“Hey!” Harry said in annoyance and slight tiredness. Tom just continued, ignoring Harry's indignant protests. Tom dragged Harry all the way to his own cot and pulled him onto it. Tucking Harry into his chest, Tom pulled the covers over them. They stayed like that until Harry interrupted the comfortable silence. “You know, Tom,” Harry began. “You could have just, oh I don't know, crawled into my bed instead of dragging me across the room to yours.”

“Hmm,” Tom made a sound in agreement. “Though this is a rather small room. There's not much to drag you across.” Tom added.

“Don't even start on that, Tom,” Harry said in a mock stern voice. “If you agree then why didn't you?”

“I know who made you fall,” Tom said instead, blatantly ignoring Harry's question and changing the subject. “They were extremely sleep deprived and terrified of everything. Probably so scared of getting caught that they had nearly murdered someone.”

Harry gave a small smirk against Tom’s chest. “Oh? Reall—wait, what do you mean by _were_?” Harry started only to stop short and look up at Tom when he properly analysed what he had just said.

This time it was Tom who smirked. “They won't be bothering you anymore.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You don't have to worry about the finer details.” Tom just replied.

“Are they _dead_?” Harry exclaimed, clearly upset. Tom did not reply to Harry's question, not wanting his actions to upset Harry or make him scared of him. But he was sorely mistaken, for while Harry was upset, it wasn't for the reasons he believed. Harry was upset that his revenge against them hardly even started before they were offed by Tom. “Mah-my carefully plotted plans, all in vain.” Harry muttered in despair while burying his head to Tom’s chest. Harry had meant that sentence to be private, with Tom not hearing it, but it was not meant to be, for Tom heard it loud and clear and couldn't help but be confused and shocked.

“What?” Tom asked.

“You heard that?” Harry said nervously and looked back up at Tom. _What a lovely role model I am,_ Harry thought sarcastically. _I really don't need him going torture happy this early on._

“Yes,” Tom gave Harry a considering look. “Were you responsible for their terror?” Harry just mimicked Tom and kept silent to his inquiries. But it seemed to only make things worse, if Tom's small smirk was anything to go by. Each moment that Harry kept silent Tom's smirk widened until Harry started to think Tom was crazy all along befriend he became Voldemort.

_Now how am I going to dig myself out of this one?_ Harry thought while reaching his hand up and pinching the bridge of his nose.


	4. Chapter IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "English."  
>  _"Parseltongue."_

# Chapter IV

 

It was a Saturday night, already far past curfew. But that meant nothing to the two inhabitants in the room. They were both upright and awake, the room dimly lit enough for them to see. Outside, the rain pelted the the roof of Wool's Orphanage and ran down the window of their room. It was dark out, the storm casting an eerie gloom upon the orphanage with each flash of lightning. Though it wasn't anything new, as it rained quite often in Britain and the orphanage always reminded Harry of an insane asylum. The other kids at the orphanage certainly didn't help in convincing him otherwise.

Harry, now nine years old, was sitting on his cot, relaxedly lounging with his head rolled back. His large, green eyes lazily stared out the window, completely ignoring the book which rested on his lap. The old pages of the book were worn and the binding slightly teared, bearing the title _The Mysterious Island_ on it. Harry, however, had already finished the book—twice—and found no interest in making that thrice. Instead, his eyes were unfocused as he stared out the window, wishing that the storm would pass and he could watch the stars. He had found a strange interest in the stars over the years. It was mostly attributed to the fact that Harry knew, in his immortality, they would be more constant than the humans he had met.

Over time, Harry had come to accept that he was truly immortal. He had thrown a right fit at Mors, but after a while he had become resigned to his fate. At that point, he started to withdraw from people—and more specifically Tom. He just couldn't bare the thought of getting attached to someone and then being devastated when they died. He knew fondness when he felt it, and he could feel himself growing fond of Tom. But Harry also knew he was setting himself up for a very lonely existence, despite knowing that Mors would keep him company. But despite his desperate efforts at distancing himself from Tom, he always came up unsuccessful. Tom just refused to be ignored, sticking to him like a leech when he thought Harry was withdrawing from him again.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Harry shifted his eyes towards Tom, still keeping his head where it was. Tom Riddle was across from him and sitting on his own bed. But in contrast to Harry, he was actually reading his book, which was as old as Harry's own. He was completely engrossed in it, his bent down as he held it up in his hands. At looking at Tom and his book, Harry couldn't help but wryly think that Tom would marry a book in the future. Or possibly a book shop. He could just imagine Tom making out with his book by the look on his face as he read. At his thoughts, Harry couldn't manage to suppress a snort, catching Tom’s attention.

Looking up, Tom caught Harry's eyes. “What is it that amuses you so?” he asks with a raised brow. Now seven, Tom had started to grown out of his babyish looks. He also became much more… _sadistic_ as Harry had quickly noted after the events with Billy and his friends. He hadn't killed anyone again—to his knowledge—but he was certainly into terrorising the other children. They only called him names in secret now, too afraid what Tom would do to them.

“It's nothing” Harry said, earning a look from Tom. He was certainly not convinced by Harry's lie, but he wouldn't push. Or he wouldn't push this time, at least.

“I'm sure.” Tom said, showing his disbelief in his voice. Looking back down, Tom resumed his reading and ignored Harry and his eccentricities.

“Hey Tom,” Harry said after a few beats of silence. “Could I borrow a pair of church clothes for tomorrow?”

“Don't you have your own?” Tom asked with a slight twitch in his eye. “And my clothes are still too big for you.” Tom added with a smug look, taking a jab at Harry's small stature.

“I um,” Harry said while biting his bits. “I might have…lost them?” Harry admitted, phrasing it more as a question than a statement.

“ _Lost_ them?” Tom asked while shooting Harry an incredulous look. “How do you lose them? You only had one pair!” Tom exclaimed. “And you only wear it on Sunday!”

“Well,” Harry started. “I don't know how I did, I just did!” Harry said, feeling heat start to rise up on his cheeks. He honestly didn't know. One day they were there, and the next they weren't.

Tom muttered to himself in irritation, but he ended up giving in to Harry anyway. He knew he couldn't deny Harry many things. And he reluctantly admitted that he couldn't outwit Harry. And even if he managed to, Harry could just annoy him into submission. It was both infuriating—for never getting one over Harry—and thrilling—for having someone to battle his wits against. Harry was the only other kid who wasn't a snotty, whining imbecile who didn't know the difference between their face and their arse.

At yawning, Harry decided that it was time for him to turn in. He was all set for tomorrow at church and he didn't feel like being woken up by Tom again. He's certainly gotten more creative over the years. Shutting his book, Harry placed it under his cot and on the floor. Shuffling himself under the covers, Harry saw that Tom was also putting his book away, getting ready to go to sleep. Closing his eyes, Harry soon drifted to sleep, letting Tom take care of turning the light off.

What seemed like only moments later, Harry woke to bright rays shining through the window and making him squint. With a groan, Harry turned over onto his side no closed his eyes, fully determined to ignore the insistent sun and go back to sleep. And it would have worked too, if not for the sound of ruffling pages on the other side of the room that alerted Harry that Tom was awake. He was one of those horrible morning people. The bane of Harry's existence too, for whenever Tom was up, he just _had_ to wake him up as well.

Harry heard the sound of feet softly slapping the wooden floors and making their way towards him. Opening his eyes, Harry found that the morning light had been overshadowed by Tom, who was standing over him. Turning over onto his back, Harry looked up at Tom with an unamused look before turning over and ignoring him. But as stated before, Tom was not one to be ignored, as seen when he ripped the covers off the cot, making Harry tumble onto the floor. With a grunt, Harry stayed laying on the floor and glaring up at Tom's insufferable smirk.

“What the bloody hell, Tom!?” Harry said, his mood sour at having to get up.

“We have church in…” Tom started before looking at his watch—a nice pocket watch he had most certainly stolen from a rather wealthy man who was looking to adopt. He had sneered at Harry for his feminine appearance and Tom gained a grudge against him. “…six minutes.”

“ _What!?_ ” Harry shouted while shooting up and tripping towards the wardrobe. “What do you mean by six minutes!?” Now that he looked at Tom, he noticed was all dressed and ready to leave for church.

“It's six minutes until we have to leave for church.” Tom said while smirking at Harry's misfortune. But what he didn't know was that Harry had a few tricks up his sleeves.

“Leave before me.” Harry told Tom while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What?” Tom asked, thoroughly confused at Harry's order and not very keen on following it.

“Just leave before me,” Harry told him while making a shooing motion. “It will just be a second and then I'll be out right after you.”

Tom shot him a suspicious look while hesitantly turning to leave the room. With the sound of the door clicking shut, Harry let out a sigh before getting to work. Reaching out his hands, Harry used one to summon Tom's extra pair of church clothes while the other was used to tidy up his bed. Catching Tom's church clothes, Harry inspected it quickly to asses if they wouldn't be too large before swapping his pyjamas with the clothes in his hands. Neatly folding his pyjamas with magic, he placed it on his made bed and turned for the door.

He had yet to truly explain the magical world to Tom. He didn't even know the extent of Harry's powers. All Tom knew about was that he could resist Tom's magic, speak to snakes, and cause a person nightmares. He was guilty about it, but the topic hadn't really come up. Despite Tom's knowledge about Harry's own powers, he was rather reluctant to talk about what he could do. Harry wasn't sure why, but he knew he would have to tell Tom soon. Perhaps on his birthday. Harry knew that Tom would love the birthday present, even if he would refuse to say so.

Reaching the door, Harry opened it to be met with Tom leaning against the wall, staring at the pocket watch in his hand.

“You were in there for one minute and 23 seconds,” Tom said while looking up to him. “That wasn't a second.”

“That was just an expression, Tom,” Harry said while giving a scowl. “And you of all people know that.”

“Hmm,” Tom agreed. “We have four minutes until we have to leave for church.” Tom told Harry while waiting for him to start to walk up next to him. Harry, obeying the silent command, walking next to Tom, who started walking immediately after. Despite the fact they were pressed for time, they were in no rush as they practically strolled down the hallway. There was no conversation between the two. But then again, there wasn't really a need. They were comfortable enough in each other's presence that the silence did not unnerve them.

Walking down the stairs, they walked to the entrance and exited out there door, where they were met with the unamused and cold glare of Mrs Cole. Secretly peeking at Tom's watch, not wanting anyone to know they had such an expensive possession, Harry saw that it was ten seconds until they were to leave. No wonder she was irritated. But she couldn't really punish them for it, as they were not late. They were still even considered early, as it wasn't yet 8:35 according to the watch. And by the vicious smirk Tom sent Mrs Cole, Tom knew that as well.

Turning her head, Mrs Cole ignored them in favour of walking forward and leading the children onto their way to church. It was only five minutes away, the mass starting at 8:45. Walking in the back, Tom and Harry were given a wide berth by the children. Even the order ones who stood behind them, those of which were only a year or two until their majority. Harry almost of found it hilarious how terrified of Tom everyone was. Almost. He would if his prolonged companionship with Tom didn't garner hatred and fear towards him as well. Some thought Tom was corrupting him, others thought Harry was trying to “bring Tom from the darkness”, and others even believed Harry was the one who set Tom on all the other kids.

Looking down on the pavement they were walking on, Harry continued to walk, temporarily amusing himself by kicking the little pebble on the ground. Tom, who only had serious bones in his body, just chose to walk along side him and stare at anyone who looked at them like an overzealous guard dog. Continuing to kick the pebble, Harry failed to notice that they had arrived at the church. He also failed to notice the pastor who was standing outside. So when the children started to trickle in, Harry fell behind and kicked the pebble one last time. Right at the pastor's face. But they did manage to duck just in time.

Startled, Harry looked up with wide eyes at the pastor, a look of horror plastered on his face. Though in the back of his mind, he pouted at the fact that the pebble missed, even if that had been an accident. He held no love for the pastor, and he was by no means a Christian. He strictly followed his religion—the old religion of the Wizarding World—and no amount of torturous preaching would get him to convert. Not to mention that for some reason, as opposed to how it was in the orphanage, the pastor was suspicious and wary of _him_ , not Tom. He didn't know why, but the pastor just didn't like him.

The pastor, at standing up fully once again, looked at Harry with suspicion and a large amount of contempt. He didn't believe for a moment that he regretted what he did. Ever since he met him, he found that Harry unnerved him. Even more so than Tom. To him, Tom, despite all his obvious cruelness and his very grown up demeanour, still seemed _human_ to him. Harry, on the other hand, sent shiver down his spine. The kid felt so very _inhuman_. Like death had come knocking on his door. It made him feel absolutely frightened of him. But it also made him absolutely hate him. Hate him and his family.

Why did an orphan—despite their powerful name—get to have magic when he didn't? It wasn't his fault he was a squib, so why was he cast out? _He_ should be the one with the magical powers. Not an orphan pureblood. But no, instead he was forced to live in the _muggle world._ Forced to endure being a priest and having to act all nice and believing in God. So anytime he found a magical pureblood, he made sure to… _dispose_ of them. And Hadrian Peverell was next on his list. All he needed to get his revenge all he had to do was convince the matron that he needed to perform an “exorcism” on Harry.

“I'm so sorry,” Harry told the pastor while making sure his face conveyed it. “I didn't mean to to! Really!”

The pastor gave him a smile which didn't reach his eyes. “I'm sure,” the pastor said, the tone giving a hint of a double meaning. “All is forgiven.” The pastor told Harry as kindly as he could manage, obviously failing miserably when Harry's eerie eyes glinted. Harry still disliked when people lied to him. He could always tell when they did.

Nodding his head and smiling, Harry turned to the front of the church and entered through the archway, completely ignoring the holy water at the sides of the entrance. As he made his way in, Harry saw the disapproving glare from Mrs Cole and the imploring eyes of Tom. Quickly heading to where Tom sat, Harry slid into the pew that was in the far back corner of the church without kneeling in prayer. It was ideal spot for them for no one would really notice them. Scooting right up to him, Harry leaned closely into his side while Tom rested his chin on top of his head. They had a mutual agreement that during the mass they would use that time to catch up on sleep. Sure, they had to get up for communion and all that, but resting their eyes certainly didn't hurt.

“What happened?” Tom whispered into his ear, making Harry feel the vibrations from his throat. The pastor had finally come in and starting the mass, but no one noticed Tom and him whispering in the corner. And most of the time, if they were caught, they would not get a punishment until later. Which always irked Tom, for while they were always suspicious and hated Tom, Harry was the one who usually bore the brunt of the punishments as he was the eldest of the two. He was more in trouble because they expected more from him and punished him for being a bad role model.

“I kicked a pebble and it went at the pastor's face.” Harry whispered back, curling up a little closer to Tom.

“…Did it hit him?” Tom asked after a slight pause.

“No.” Harry whispered.

“A shame.” was Tom's disappointed reply.

“Yes, truly a shame,” Harry agreed with a nod. “But if it had I would be in a lot of trouble. You know the pastor doesn't like me.” Harry told Tom.

“Yes,” Tom agreed. “He finds you unnerving. More so than he does me.”

“And I have no idea why.” Was Harry's reply. They conversed throughout a little longer before they closed their eyes, not truly asleep but enough for some resting. But they always kept an ear out for when they had to get up for communion. They had devised a plan long ago to only pretend they were taking the bread and wine. When it came their turn they would bring the cup to their lips enough to look like a sip but not enough for the wine to touch their mouth. The bread was a lot easier, as all they had to do was take the bread and start walking away, only then bringing it up to their mouth as if they were eating it. It was as close as a rebellion they could manage for the moment.

When the mass was finally over, they had to stay over for a little longer. Thankfully for them, their was no Sunday school that day. Harry sometimes swore his brain turned to mush when he had to attend. It wasn't even the fact that it wasn't his religion that truly got to him. It's just that they would drone on and on and the priest would still say the readings from the bible in Latin even when it wasn't during mass. Sure, Harry could understand it due to most spells he knew being in it and his interest in learning it during Hogwarts, but for Tom, who didn't speak it, it was absolute torture.

Standing around next to Tom with half lidded eyes, Harry stared off to space as the other people mingled. But suddenly, something caught his attention. A little, green garden snake was slithering its way through the entrance and into the church. That in of itself was odd, as most snakes avoided human contact. What was even stranger was that the snake was completely ignoring the people around the room, expertly slithering around the various feet on the floor. His interest piqued, Harry left Tom's side and approached the snake, kneeling down in front of them. Reaching his hands out Harry hissed to the snake in parseltongue.

 _"Come with me, little one."_ Harry hissed lowly while picking the snake up discreetly. He had no intention of speaking to the snake in the centre of the room where anyone could see. Walking outside, and looking side to side, Harry placed the snake down onto the path at not seeing anyone else around. He knew Tom would probably go looking for him soon, not one to let him wonder, but he still had a decent amount of time to do things on his own. Tom needed some time to be able to terrorise the children. What better way to scar them than do it in a church?

 _“You speak!”_ the snake hissed back while sticking its tongue out to locate Harry. After a few tongue flickers, the snake finally turned to face Harry. _“You're a speaker!”_

 _“Of course I can speak.”_ Harry said with an amused laugh, knowing the snake wouldn't get his quip.

 _“Do you have any mice?”_ the snake asked, showing their priorities and going straight to asking for food once they realised Harry could understand their demands. _“There is one by the bush but it's dead.”_

Slightly hesitating, Harry answered. _“Wait there for a moment.”_ Standing up, Harry walked towards the bush and looked around for the dead mouse. Searching the grass, a pink foot and brownish fur caught Harry's eye. Reaching down, Harry picked it up by the foot and carried it to the snake. Dropping it down onto the path, Harry once again kneeled down.

 _“I said that mouse is dead!”_ the snake hissed unhappily. _“I don't eat dead mice.”_ the snake added as petulantly a snake could act.

 _“Just watch.”_ Harry said, smiling at the entertaining snake. He was also giddy to be practicing more necromancy. Reaching his hand towards the mouse, a dark miasma started to appear around Harry's hand. The black and unsettling vapour started to swirl in the air, making its way towards the dead mouse. Once the vapid reached the dead mouse, however, the once still body started violently twitching. It kept twitching until it was nearly rolling around before the little mouse turned over and started to move as if it weren't dead in the first place.

 _“Thank you!”_ the snake hissed before slithering after its prey.

Smiling happily, Harry stood up and turned around, only to be met with the frightened face of Mrs Cole and the despised look on the pastor's face. At seeing the two, Harry paled, his very close to white skin turning a light grey. Harry felt very nauseous. He hadn't been careful enough, and now the people he least wanted to find out did. And it was a very horrible thing they found out. Never mind the Wizarding World and their fear and hate for necromancy. The juggles would probably think he's the Devil’s incarnate. Maybe even the Antichrist what with the time period he was in. Harry was really cursing the Potter luck. It seemed it was too good to be true when it missed him last year. And because of that something twice as bad was happening.

“I see now what you were talking about, father Paul,” Mrs Cole said with a wavering voice. “To think I was convinced it was Tom all this time, when the true monster was left to do as he pleased.”

“Yes,” the pastor nodded. “And that is why I ask for permission to perform an exorcism on Harry. He is possessed by a demon. No child should suffer that fate.”

“I agree,” Mrs Cole said while glancing at the still frozen Harry, his big eyes wide in shock and terror. “How soon can it be done.”

“Today,” the pastor said seriously. “Usually it wouldn't be so soon, but I believe that this is an exception. We have a very powerful demon on our hands.”

Agreeing wholeheartedly with the pastor, the matron marched right up to Harry and grabbed his arm roughly, her grub bruising. That startled Harry out of his stupor, and, at hearing what they were discussing moments before, started to struggle wildly. But no matter how much he tried, his small, childish body couldn't be out of her hold. Right when he was contemplating using magic, not really caring about the Statue of Secrecy, the pastor walked up to him and hit him over the head, knocking him out instantly. Harry's last thought was about how he hated his life.

Holding his hands out, the matron passed the now unconscious Harry to the pastor. Gripping Harry lightly, the pastor bundled him up into his arms and started to walk back into the church. Entering, the mingling people stopped to look at the pastor and the child in his arms, making whispers break out. But one pair of eyes in particular stared at Harry's limp form, their dark eyes gaining a crimson red tint.

“I must ask of you that you all leave,” the pastor said before turning to look at the matron who entered just after him. “And I'm afraid you will too.” the pastor said in a lower voice.

“That is acceptable,” the matron said, not really caring about the fate of Harry. “Come children!” the matron said in a louder voice. “We must be going!” And with that, she turned and walked away, knowing that they would obey for fear of being left alone. It had already happened five times before the children learned to obey her. Unless it was Tom or Harry of course. Then the kids had to report their absence. Mrs Cole didn't want them causing havoc on the streets. She wouldn't be surprised if the body count would rise, really.

A rush of children walked out and followed the matron, but one stayed behind. Tom, face etched in fury, stormed up to the pastor.

“Give him to me.” Tom ordered.

Looking down at Tom, the pastor's mouth set into a line of disapproval. “I'm afraid I cannot do that, Tom.”

“And why not?” Tom said, his voice getting sharper and sharper with each passing moment.

“You will see him again in a few day.” the pastor told Tom, choosing not to answer his previous question.

 _“You will give him to me!”_ Tom commanded, making sure to use his power to try and command them.

“You are a very naughty boy,” the pastor said, unaffected by the command but unnerved that Tom had such a grip on magic so young. “But you should learn to be wary of who you try that on that is a squib or a magical.” the pastor said with a menacing look, thoroughly confusing Tom.

Tom, at realising his power wasn't working, became even more enraged, his previously red tinted eyes turning fully Crimson. But he also felt a sense of helplessness at not being able to get Harry away from the pastor. It seemed that he would have to resort to more physical means. He's glad he had filched one of the smaller kitchen knives at night. It seemed it would come in handy. But before Tom could do anything, the matron came storming in, her sights set on Tom. Tom just glared at her for daring to interrupt. He couldn't wait for the day he could completely destroy her and the orphanage.

“Tom!” she yelled. “It's time to go!” When Tom did not respond nor even move his eyes from Harry to look at her, the matron grabbed his arm and had to drag him all the way out. Tom made it extra difficult for her, still unwilling to leave Harry but powerless to do anything. With a snarl at the pastor, Tom lost sight of Harry as he was dragged out.

For the four days Harry did not return, Tom's temper and grip on emotions spiraled out of control. Even a bit of his sanity was slipping, his emotions becoming even more limited. There ended up being seven, gruesome deaths in the orphanage, six children and one adult. And despite everyone knowing Tom did it, they had nothing to prove.

Watching Tom being dragged out, the pastor turned around and walked through one of the doors in the church. He was surprised that there were two magicals in the orphanage. But he was only interested in Harry. The Peverell. And he was not disappointed. Through the doorway was a staircase going down, the bottom looking like an endless abyss. Reaching out with one arm—Harry being light enough to hold with one arm—a light was switched on, making a hazy light chase away the darkness, leaving only shadows to remain.

Walking down into what was assumedly a basement, the pastor stood before seemingly blank wall. Reaching his hand out, he pressed on certain areas with his ring, making an entrance open up before him. Just because he was a squid didn't mean he couldn't use some magic, contradictory as that seemed.  If a magical was willing, they would enchant or infuse their magic into objects for a squib to use.  And it was usually done illegally, as there was much concern over the Statue of Secrecy being jeopardised.  He had gotten his ring infused with magic, acting as a key to the secret entrance. Walking through, the wall closed up behind him, the room he entered already lit at the opening of the entrance. Inside was what one would call a torture chamber more than an exorcism room. There were various tools on the wall—most of which had a very questionable nature—as well as a stone slab in the centre with chains.

Placing Harry onto the slab, he arranged him so he was flat on his back, his limbs spread slightly out and apart. Reaching for the floor, he picked up chains which he attached to Harry's limbs. They made sure Harry couldn't escape. Even with magic. They had magic blocking runes carved into them. And the harder one struggled, the tighter they become. It was meant for magical criminals in the past. But he had a few connections that were able to get him the special chains. It was well worth it despite the large price that came with it.

Looking down at Harry, the pastor gave a sharp smirk. He absolutely loathed magical purebloods. Especially ones of high standing such as the Peverells. But now he had one—possibly the last, he suspected—in his hands. And no one would stop him from getting his much needed revenge. No one.


	5. Chapter 5

# Chapter V

 

Opening his eyes, Harry was blurrily met with a dark shadow looming over him. Surprised, he tried to jerk back, only for his wrists and ankles to resist violently. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Harry realises there is the familiar feeling of cool metal tightly wound around his wrists and ankles along with that empty feeling in his core. Panicking, Harry started to hyperventilate in sharp pants, having realised the gravity of his situation. And despite his desperate tries, he couldn't get a hold of himself and calm down. He knew the futility of the trying to escape from last time. No magic and even less mobility. It was a death sentence. Or as much as a death sentence it could be for him. But something told him the priests wouldn't make it quick.

“Finally awake, I see,” Harry heard, drawing his attention back to the shadow that he now recognised as the pastor. once he realised it was the priest of all things, Harry's fright soon started to ebb away and turn into annoyed incredulity. He was kidnapped by a _pastor!_ Of all things, he had to be kidnapped by a pastor who was part of a religion that saw his magic as evil and even demonic. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry. “I was afraid I would have to go to more… _drastic_ means to wake you up.” He said while giving a sinister smile, his brown eyes coldly looking down into Harry's own. Harry just chose to keep silent, his breath finally evening out and slightly calming down, knowing that his mouth could potentially make whatever was going to happen to him even worse. He had lost count on how many times he's mouthed off to the wrong person and payed for it. It was a really bad habit of his. But, as luck would have it—unsurprisingly—Harry chose the one time to remain quiet when that was the worst option to choose.

“What?” the pastor sneered in a mocking voice. “Too high and mighty to speak to a squib like myself?” With a sinking feeling, Harry started to piece together why he might have been captured. He knew how squibs were tossed out of families, especially pure blood families, as if they were a blemish to society. Though Harry really had to wonder how the squib became a priest, considering that wasn't a religion most magicals, squib or not, turned to. Most of the Wizarding World still were uneasy with muggle religions from the witch trials and much of the other executions of magicals because of religion. And Harry could quite agree, especially since he was now in the 1930’s, where muggles were even less accepting than his time.

Bringing his hands up, the pastor gripped Harry's shoulders and started to shake them violently, consequently jostling the shackles and making them squeeze painfully tighter around his wrists and ankles, sure to leave a mark. It was most certainly intentional, and Harry just knew that the pastor was aware that the chains would tighten if he shook Harry. Gritting his teeth, Harry resolved to keep silent, not wanting to give satisfaction to the pastor of getting a response out of him. The pastor had just earned himself a nice, shiny spot on his to kill list. Painfully. Preferable with inferior, which he knew would absolutely frighten the man. No one wanted to be eaten alive.

“Answer me!” the pastor said, still shaking him and making the shackles go even tighter. In the back of his mind, where his morbid thoughts lay, Harry couldn't help but muse happily to himself that if the pastor kept shaking him his limbs would fall off and he could escape. The priest would inadvertently free his prisoner. None of his thoughts showed up on his face, however. Instead, Harry bit his lip and still stubbornly refused to answer, his limbs bedamned. Inexplicably enraged, the pastor pastor shouted again, some spittle hitting Harry's face and making him grimace in disgust. Just what he needed. The icing on the cake: human spit. Harry was just having a lovely day.

“That's it!” the pastor said while letting go of Harry. Turning he walked over to the wall and dismounted a rather threatening tool. It was not quite a blade, but not quite a hammer either. All the while, Harry couldn't tell if he was losing his mind or had come up with some obscure coping mechanism when he thought if it was custom made and if he could have the name of his dealer. “You've tried my patience.” he said more quietly. But it was the quiet tone he took on which set Harry's alarm bells off. He knew very well how dangerous controlled, cold anger could be from his own bouts of anger. Cold anger was so much more harmful than hot anger.

Raising his arm with the tool in hand, the pastor approached Harry, a demented smirk on his face. And despite the situation, Harry couldn't help but internally snort at his misfortune. It was always the madmen he got stuck with. It was just really a matter of time before he was kidnapped by a mad squib priest hell bent on killing him as well. At the shadow of the priest casting over his face again, Harry sobered up from his internal amusement at his luck and looked up defiantly at the pastor, giving his best glare. He had already died four times, he might as well make it five. He might even make some sort of record with the amount of times he has died.

Ignoring the shiver that went up his spine and his hairs which stood on end, the pastor brought down the tool, fully intending to stake Harry through the chest. But not towards the heart. No, the pastor wasn't going to let Harry die so easily. And he would have succeeded with stabbing Harry too, if not for the enraged figure which appeared in black wisps. It was Mors in all their pissed off glory. Shooting out their hand, Mors gripped the pastors arm before he could reach Harry with it, the bones snapping and contorting at odd angles painfully.

Abruptly, Mors let go, the pastor collapsing onto the ground and writhing in pain. Turning to Harry and snapping their fingers, Harry's chains unlocked from his wrists and ankles and fell to the floor with a clank. Shooting Mors a grateful look, Harry immediately sat up and rubbed his sore wrists, the bones there being smaller and thus more in pain than his ankles at the moment. They were definitely going to bruise. Possibly even scar as well if the red, rash-like abrasions around his wrist were any indication. “Thank you.” Harry said softly, still slightly shaky from what had happened. He just never could manage to catch a break. Sometimes he wished he could just take a few days to brood alone in misery over that fact. Maybe then he'd get it out of his system for while.

“Anything for you, Harry” was Mors’ reply. “You could ask for the end of the universes itself if you wished it so and I would comply gladly.” Mors muttered more lowly; too low for Harry to hear. And he meant it. Meant every word of it. As long as he had the ability to do so and it wasn't detrimental to Harry, he would do anything. Especially if it had to do with torture. Mors would not be held back by some petty, human emotion if Harry requested someone to be tortured.

Smiling up at Mors, Harry felt a warm feeling pool into his stomach at Mors’ words. But that feeling was quickly cut off and turned into surprise when Mors scooped him up into their solid arms. “What are you doing!?” Harry squeaked in surprise while wrapping his arms around Mors’ neck instinctively. He really didn't want to fall out. But he was quite surprised at the warmth emanating off Mors’ arms. He almost expected them to be cold; corpse-like. Mors just ignored his question and, casually walking up to the pastor, stopped right next to his pain filled body.

“Death will not save you from my wrath,” Mors said before some sort of energy shifted in the air and Mors lifted their foot. Bringing it down, Mors’ stomped repeatedly onto the pastors’ neck, crushing the pastors windpipe which resulting in crunching and squelching sounds. Digging and twisting their heel, Harry watched from his spot in Mors arms in morbid fascination as Mors brutally killed the pastor. Blood was starting to pool on the floor from one of the pastor’s vertebrae piercing through skin and crushed bone was running out along with the thick blood, further mutilating the pastor’s throat. But what should also be noted was that the pastor was not dead. He was still moving his limbs, most likely in an attempt to get away, and his eyes were blown wide open in terror. “But I'm afraid Death will not accept you for the moment.” Mors said while looking down at the pastor, their black eyes and shark-like grin terrifying enough that it would make a better man cower in fear. And the pastor was certainly not a better man.

Turning their head, Mors smiled at Harry gently as if he hadn't just crushed a man’s throat and kept them from dying. “Hold on.” Mors told Harry before they disappeared in black wisps, the pastor’s voice pleading to not be left there the last thing Harry heard of him. Harry wasn't very inclined to give him mercy. Reappearing in a grand hallway, Harry couldn't help but muse that Mors’ method of traveling was infinitely better than apparition. Or the Floo Network. Or any method of transport that had to do with wizards for that matter. Though it was still slightly disorientating, for they were still teleporting around and were still required to adjust to the change in environment.

Looking around, Harry felt awe when he took in his surroundings. The hallway was extravagant. Overly so, admittedly, but that did not take away the beauty of it. The floors were a silver and black marble while the walls were a polished stone. The walls had various paintings of people and other things, all enchanted if the moving of many had anything to say about it. It was like the inside of a castle, really. But Harry could also tell no one had been there for a very long time. Even if it was clean everywhere, the castle felt cold; unwelcoming; void of life.

“Where are we?” Harry asked.

“We are in the Peverell family’s castle.” was Mors reply.

“Who are you to trespass in the Peverell family’s castle?” a gravelly, male voice sounded from the left. Whipping his head towards the source of the sound, meeting face to face with a deep, blue eyed man in his middle age. He was a striking figure, looking very much like some regal king. He had black hair similar to his own, though not as black, and wore very formal robes of blue, black and silver.

“I'm, ah,” Harry started while looking up at the painting. “I'm Hadrian Peverell,” Harry answered, earning a piercing stare from the portrait. A few moments later, the portrait nodded their head, seeming to believe Harry's answer. “And you?” Harry asked a few seconds after the portrait accepted his answer, curious as to who he was speaking to. Though he definitely could guess that he was speaking to a Peverell, considering it was a painting the Peverell castle.

“Vadim Valentin Peverell,” the painting answered back and then jutted his chin towards Mors. “And your companion? He is not of Peverell blood.”

“You can tell if someone is a Peverell?” Harry asked, slightly wary, as in the beginning Vadim had acted as if they were trespassers not of Peverell blood. Harry wasn't quite sure the paintings motive after that. Why feign ignorance?

“Yes, I can tell,” Vadim answered. “And I can also tell that that man who holds you reeks just as much death as you do. Is he a necromancer?” he asked while scrutinising Mors.

“Yes,” Mors told the portrait. “I am a necromancer. I had found Harry living in an orphanage and have come here with Harry to raise him properly. He has the gift for necromancy as you most certainly already know.” Mors replied.

“Yes, he most certainly does,” Vadim said. “And who is it that I speak to?” he asked, noticing he had yet to received an answer on that. There was something about the man than put him on edge. And it wasn't only the constant sense of death and doom clinging to him everywhere. If he weren't just a painting, he knew his hair would be standing on end and he would feel a cold sweat on his skin.

“I am called Mors.” Mors answered while locking eyes with Vadim, further unnerving the portrait at meeting black eyes. They had no whites in them. It was just a black void. Vadim couldn't tell if it was a sign the man wasn't human or if it was from delving so deeply into necromancy. He himself had never witnessed such a change from practicing the art, but it was not impossible. Features undergoing changes sometimes did happen, but never so drastically. Though the child's eyes sent a chill down his spine as well. Such poisonous, green eyes were unheard of. He didn't know which of the two unnerved him more. The child with glowing eyes and reeked of death or the man with endless, black eyes that almost felt like death itself.

“Death?” Vadim asked, slightly amused at the irony of his name, trying to hide his slight wariness of the two. But Mors and Harry were by no means fooled. Harry was used to looking for the hidden meanings and emotions of a person and Mors, well, they could just tell. “Is that a self given one?”

“No,” Mors replied. “My… _parents_ were not quite all there in the head.” Mors told the portrait. Mors of course didn't mean parents, but he meant mortals. Mortals of all worlds and dimensions had given numerous amounts of names. Too many in Mors’ opinion. He just wished they would settle on one name and one belief on death. Then he wouldn't have to change and match so many mortals concepts and beliefs of death.

“Hmm,” Vadim hummed. “Do I sense a bit of resentment?”

“Of course,” Mors said while giving a sharp smile. He was not overly fond of mortals at all. Especially one particular one who thought he could escape death. The only reason he wasn't dead was because Harry needed him for his revenge. Otherwise nothing would stop him from teaching that foolish mortal a lesson. Glancing at the windows, Mors created an escape from the conversation, not wishing for it to last very long. “I am afraid we must cut this meeting short. I have some… _business_ to attend to.”

“Of course,” Vadim answered. “The head house-elf is called Phliky if you require anything.” Nodding his head at the portrait, Mors started to walk, Harry still curled up in his arms. His footsteps echoed across the hall, making the castle seem vastly empty. Stealth was certainly not on Mors’ mind. Still walking, they finally stopped at a black door. Reaching out one hand while adjusting the other to keep Harry upright, Mros opened the door.

Harry was greeted with a lavish and equally extravagant bedroom. It looked like a master bedroom, the large bed a dark, forest green and a large fireplace across from it with two chairs and a love seat by it. Still taking his time to take in the room, Harry failed to register Mors moving further into the room. And it is such a reason why Harry once again squeaked when Mors dropped him on the bed, his body bouncing on it once before settling. He really needed to better his awareness of things. With Mors or Tom he also payed attention to things less.

Peering up at Mors, Harry gave a questioning look. “Mors?”

“I will be back,” Mors said. “Like I told Vadim, I really do have some…business to attend to. It should only be for a short while.” And with that, Mors disappeared in his black wisps.

“…Uh,” was Harry's intelligent reply, at a loss of what he was supposed to do when Mors was away. Looking side to side, Harry stood up. He might as well explore the castle if he had nothing better to do.

_**Four Days Later** _

Curled up in the large bed and under the warm blankets, Harry sighed in contentment. He hadn't slept in a bed as comfy as the one he was in since never. It was always the old, rickety one in the cupboard at the dursleys, the uncomfortable and creaky one in the second bedroom at the dursleys, the one at the Gryffindor dorms, or the hospital beds at Hogwarts. None of them were like the heavenly cloud he was relaxing on. Nothing could ruin his happiness. Nothing except for the sound of deep chuckles he could hear above him. Groaning, Harry swatted above him without looking up and turned over onto his stomach, not wishing to wake up. Tom never let him sleep in late and Harry was taking full advantage of being able to.

“You're quite adorable,” the voice of Mors said from above him. “Like a little kitten.” Abruptly, at hearing Mors’ voice, Harry shot up and out of bed, glaring at the object of his ire. Mors had said he would be gone for a short while. Not four days! _Four days!_ Harry just wanted to throttle Mors to death. Except he wouldn't be able to, making Harry's mood take an even sharper nose dive.

“You!” Harry exclaimed while pointing at Mors face. He was still sitting in bed and comically shorter than Mors, but Harry didn't care. He knew he could more than make up for it. He thinked. But then again the fact that he looked like a really short and small nine year old definitely wouldn't help. “You!”

“Yes, me.” Mors replied amusement while looking at Harry's face. Bringing his hand up, Mors wrapped their fingers around Harry's hand and lowered it down. But Mors did not let go once it was rested down on the bed.

Light pink dusting his cheeks, Harry shook his head to get a hold of himself. “You said a short while!” Harry exclaimed, his right eye twitching slightly.

“I did.” Mors replied with a nod, still looking down at him with an amused fondness and holding his hand. Harry's hand felt really warm under Mors grip. Almost unnervingly so.

“It's been four days!” Harry said, pouting at Mors with cheeks slightly puffed. He knew he was ruining his angry and intimidating visage, but he just couldn't help it.

“Time passes differently for us immortals as you will soon learn.” Mors told Harry while stroking over Harry's knuckles with his thumb. Harry wanted to retort, but he couldn't manage to get any words out. He was more focused on Mors thumb rubbing over his hand. It was distracting. Really distracting. And before he knew it Harry was just staring at their interlocked hands, entranced. But he soon shook himself of whatever spell he was under, pulling his hand away and freeing it with no resistance. Looking up, Harry decided to act like the child he looked like just once and stuck his tongue out at Mors’ petulantly. Mors just gave him an amused smile.

Reaching their arms out, Mors gripped onto Harry and dragged him out of bed, eliciting a grumble. But Harry did not fight Mors, for he knew the difference in physical strength was way too great for Harry to put up any resistance. Being dragged to his feet, Mors abruptly teleported them to the front of Wool’s Orphanage, catching Harry completely off guard and making him stumble and nearly fall over if not for the arms which caught him around his waist. “Warn me next time!” Harry said, now fully awake. He really needed to hang out with someone other than Tom or Mors. He would prefer to be woken up normally. Or better yet, not woken up at all. That would be wonderful.

“I can give no promises, Harry.” Mors said while guiding him through the front entrance. Walking with confident steps and a tall back, Mors opened the door to Mrs Cole’s office without even knocking. Stepping in, Mors closed the door behind him. Mrs Cole was startled from her papers and rose from her chair. She wasn't too happy that someone barged in without asking. But any words she was going to say were caught in her through when she was met with the imposing figure of Mors.

“My name is Mors, and I would like to adopt Harry.” Mors told her, getting straight to the point and causing her to splutter a little bit. She didn't know how to act around him. But she was pretty sure he was not one to be trifled with. He looked like a man with a lot of money and a lot of power. One that could destroy her if he so wished. Though she was certainly surprised at seeing Harry. He had been gone for four days and there had been no word from the pastor, so she assumed he had to be…put down. She was also relieved, for Tom had become even more of a monster. He was unbearable and frightening and made her regret becoming the matron of the orphanage.

“Ah-of Kah-course,” she stuttered out while bending down and rifling through one of the draws for the required papers.

Meanwhile, Harry turned to Mors and whispered to him. “Can we take Tom with us as well?” Harry asked Mors, but it was more of a question with room for only one answer. Yes.

“Of course.” Mors ground out, their face showing their displeasure. Mors was not looking forward to that, but they would not deny Harry of what he wished. Maybe Mors would get lucky and the revenge would happen even sooner and the only time they would have to see Tom Riddle again was when he died when he was supposed to. Looking back to the matron, Mors told her of his wish to adopt another. “I would also like to adopt Tom Riddle.” Mors’ statement made the matron stop abruptly, her face going pale.

“Ah-are you sure?” she stuttered out, very nervous. “There are plenty other choices.” she told Mors, trying to convince them of choosing someone other than Tom.

“I'm sure.” Mors told her, leaving no room for argument and making her bite her tongue.

“Ah-alright…” she said while bending down and retrieving more papers. She was sweating nervously now, worried about the consequences of letting the man adopt Tom. He had become more cold; more violent the past few days. And there were so many kids who ended up dead or severely injured as well. She really didn't want to be responsible for the man’s displeasure if Tom tried to kill him. Though maybe, just maybe, with Harry with him Tom would be more behaved. She had the sneaking suspicion that the only reason Tom was set off was because he was taken away with the pastor.

Spreading the papers put on the desk, she slid them towards Mors. “Pah-please fill out these papers.” She told Mors while setting a pen next to it. Nodding his head, Mors walked to the desk and picked up the pen, getting ready to fill the forms quickly.

“Go and tell Tom of what is happening.” Mors told Harry, not even looking back. His hand was moving rapidly on the paper, nearly making Mrs Cole dizzy at the speed. She wasn't even sure he was reading anything on the papers.

Nodding his head in understanding, Harry turned on his heel and ran up the stairs and to the end of the hall. Stopping at the last door, Harry reached out and turned the handle, surprised at the fact that it was unlocked. Peeking his head in and looking side to side, Harry found the room to be empty. He was slightly confused, considering Tom was usually so paranoid and possessive of his things. He would never leave his door unlocked. Hesitantly stepping in, Harry looked around the room and found his side of the room to be unchanged. Looking to Tom's side, Harry found it to be nearly the same as well. Except, for some reason, his book _The Mysterious Island_ was placed on Tom’s bed. That was quite odd as well. Tom didn't like to read fiction books. Why would he have one on his bed?

With a contemplative frown, Harry left the room to go and find Tom. He shouldn't be that hard to find unless he found some secret hiding place. Which was annoyingly very likely considering Tom’s love for peace and quiet. He wouldn't be able to stand being anywhere that someone could go and disturb him. Wandering the halls, Harry started to call his name, hoping that maybe he would be able to catch his attention. But it was to no avail, and Harry walked down the stairs. Maybe he would be outside. Navigating the building as if he had never left, Harry exited through a door to the backyard.

“Tom!” Harry called while looking around. “Where the bloody hell could he be?” Harry muttered to himself while walking around the yard. “To—” Harry started to call to try and find him one last time only to be cut off when a hand covered his mouth. It was slightly clammy and Harry really didn't like the feeling of it.

“You idiot!” the voice of a kid said. “What are you trying to do by drawing _his_ attention? Get us all killed?” There was an undercurrent of terror in his voice as he spoke.

Bringing his hands up quickly, Harry tore off the kids hands and turned around. The kid wasn't anyone he recognised, around twelve years or so with brown eyes and dirty blonde hair. They must of been new and came in when he was gone, and thus didn't know who he was and his friendship with Tom. “No, I'm just trying to find my friend Tom.” Harry told the kid, earning a shocked look on the kid's face. Harry was almost tempted to laugh in the kid's face at the horrified look he earned from them. It was as if he told the kid he was gay, which would be a real shocker to the kid because of the time period.

“Are you mad?” The kid exclaimed. “Don't say his name! He'll come after us then! He's a—” the kid started but then cut himself off while glancing side to side in fear. “He's a _monster,”_ The kid harshly said, this time in a much lower voice. It was as if he were afraid to say it too loudly; as if saying it too loud would summon who he was talking about. “He's been killing people. Even one of the adults. He's a murderer I tell you!” The kid said a little more loudly, only to shut his mouth and go extremely pale, looking past Harry's shoulder at something. Harry almost thought he was going to faint. Either that or wet his pants, that is.

“I'm a monster, am I?” the smooth voice of Tom Riddle was heard behind Harry.


	6. Chapter VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for such the long wait, but my computer had taken its last breath and I've resorted to writing this chapter on my phone and I'm also writing this at midnight/very early morning (surprise surprise), so I apologise for any mistakes which were made and welcome corrections. 
> 
> Also, thank you for all of you who have commented on my story to either compliment or give me feedback/correction (I'm just done with writing "thank you!" to every single compliment or correction/feedback comment).

# Chapter VI

 

Whipping his head around, Harry stared at his friend for a beat before launching himself at him. When Harry collided into his chest, Tom’s eyes widened in surprise as he wrapped his arms around Harry before they went crashing down onto the ground with an _oomph_. Smiling sheepishly, Harry looked at Tom's unamused face and tried to get up and off him. Tried being the key word, that is, for when Harry attempted to pull himself off Tom, the arms encircling his waist stayed stubbornly locked. Giving Tom a dirty look, Harry tried to push himself up once again. When his arms still did not give, Harry gave Tom a pout, hoping that he would be able to coerce Tom into letting go.

  
“ _Tom,_ ” Harry whined. “Let me go.” Tom did not reply and just tightened his grip around his waist. It was so tight it was almost painful, but there was something in Tom's eye which made Harry bite back his complaint. He looked like he was seeing a ghost. As if he couldn't believe Harry was right there in front of him. And Harry felt a pang of guilt at his look, knowing that he could have gone back to Tom right away when he escaped. Instead he had stayed in that lavish castle while Tom was left to the Orphanage from hell. He couldn't believe how selfish he had been.

  
Sitting up, Tom rose until he was standing, Harry still tightly held in his grip. Resigned to his fate and knowing Tom wasn't going to let go anytime soon, Harry huffed and turned so he was facing away from Tom’s chest and looked at the boy he had been talking to. The boy was staring at them with the funniest look on his face, his mouth agape. He looked quite comical. Especially when he started to open and close his mouth, doing a brilliant impression of a fish out of water. The boy was still deathly pale—he could be considered grey, even—and Harry crinkled his nose in disgust when he realised that the kid had urinated through his own trousers, a puddle starting to form on the ground. He really wasn't fond of children too much. They were petulant, repulsing, cruel little buggers in his opinion. Except for Tom, that is, but then again he was an exception from most things, so he didn't count. It had nothing to do with favouritism.

  
Harry had no idea what Tom was exactly doing behind him, but when the kid was finally put out of his misery by fainting, Harry had a pretty good idea. Watching him fall, Harry felt a stab of pity when he fell in the puddle of urine face first, though the feeling was soon overcome by a strong wave of disgust. There was just some things Harry didn't want to see or think about. “ _Tom,_ ” Harry chastised with his best ‘I'm disappointed in you’ look. “That's just…really disgusting. Couldn't you have just made a snake chase him around instead of making him faint in his own urine? Or at least make him faint somewhere else?” Harry asked while twisting his head to look up at Tom's face.

  
“Of course not,” Tom replied smoothly, but there was an undercurrent of emotion in his tone which Harry couldn't identify. “Things like him belong there.” Tom told Harry.

  
“You and your smooth replies,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes, used to his feelings of superiority. He really needed to keep Tom's ego in check as he grew up. Not only was it dangerous when planning world domination, Harry would rather not have to deal with such an insufferable attitude. Pausing in his line of thinking for a few moments, Harry's face lit up when he suddenly remembered why he had gone looking for Tom in the first place. “Oh, right. Tom!” Harry muttered and then called his name in excitement, turning in his arms to face him with a bit of difficulty. He found that there was much resistance.

  
“Yes?” Tom asked while looking down at Harry with soft eyes. He looked as impeccable as ever, but Harry couldn't help but notice how his face seemed stonier than before and he had light shadows under his eyes.

  
“Someone came here and is adopting us!” Harry chirped, hoping that such news might better his mood, completely missing the narrowing of Tom's eyes until they became thin slants and the minute tightening of his arms.

  
“Oh? And do you know this person?” Tom asked, his voice suspicious. He in no way wanted to be adopted by some adult he didn't even know or trust, though then again, there was absolutely _no_ adult Tom trusted with himself, nevermind Harry. He completely ignored the trickle of worry in the back of his mind which told him Harry might be the only one adopted. He wouldn't allow it. He would even make the adopter _go away_ if he had to. No one would take Harry away from him. _No one._

  
“Yes,” Harry nodded enthusiastically, taking Tom's interest for excitement. Well, as much excitement that Tom can have. “They're…” Harry started, only to stop short on what he was going to say. He had no idea what Mors was to him. Harry certainly wouldn't call Mors his servant, and he didn't really want to lie to Tom by saying he was a relative or something like that. Harry knew that Tom’s trust was very hard to earn—and he didn't even know if he _had_ earned it—and he had no wish to make Tom believe him to be a liar. “They're a…they're a friend.” Harry finally decided to call Mors, for they had been there for him and will be there for him for an eternity. He would prefer to have Mors as a friend rather than a slave. Plus, he found that he didn't really mind Mors company from the small amount of contact he had with them so far.

  
“I see,” Tom said, still suspicious, having catched how Harry had hesitated on what to call the person wanting to adopt them. For all he knew, Harry could have just briefly met the person and have no idea of their true character. Tom found Harry entirely too trusting for his tastes, which was why he had to decide who Harry should associate with himself. It would do no good for Harry to trust the wrong person. “And I suppose that you were sent to retrieve me?” Tom asked Harry, still fishing for information.

  
“Yes.” Harry nodded, earning a nod from Tom in return.

  
“Well, come on then.” Tom said while letting his arms drop from around Harry and allowing him free only to grip his hand right after. Tugging Harry's hand, Tom led Harry to Mrs Cole’s office without even needing to be told where to meet their adopter. It wasn't very surprising that Tom knew. People who wanted to adopt always had to go to the matron’s office for asking about adopting and paperwork. She would spin some tale of sympathy about the kid or kids to make a person feel guilty if they didn't adopt while secretly smirking in joy at the prospect of one of the cretchens—her words not Harry’s—hopefully leaving for good. She would have fit into Slytherin if she wasn't a muggle just fine in Harry's opinion. Not that he would ever want to be in her presence for more than necessary, but Harry had to give credit when credits due. She was a silver tongued snake through and through.

  
At arriving to Mrs Cole's office, Tom abruptly stopped, consequently making Harry nearly crash into him and let out a squeak. Turning his head, Tom shot Harry a pointed look. “Quiet,” he hissed in a commanding tone. “We have to leave a good impression if we want to be adopted _together_. Them being your friend might not be enough. I refuse for us to be separated.” Tom warned while turning back to the door of Mrs Cole's office. Biting his lip, Harry squashed the urge to tell Tom that nothing would make Mors not adopt them. He really didn't need to get Tom’s curiosity going when Harry slipped up and said things that would raise way too many questions he had no wish to answer. Everything was just still too raw for him. He doubted he could go five minutes into the explanation without breaking down into hysterics.

  
Raising his hand, Tom knocked on the door three times and then lowered it, waiting to be given permission to enter. A few moments later, Mrs Cole's voice sounded through the door, her voice in a sickly sweet tone reserved only to make niceties and leave a good impression on people wishing to adopt. She was very good at it, though she could tone it down a little bit. Opening the door, Tom entered the office, Harry not too far behind for they still had their hands entwined. Mors was standing imposingly in front of Mrs Cole's desk, their body angled so they could see both Harry and Tom entering as well as Mrs Cole's reactions. Their face, while blank to the average observer, held a frown to those who looked very closely. Their eyes were rested on Harry's and Tom’s entwined hands, only looking away when he turned to address Mrs Cole.

  
“I believe all the paperwork is in order and I may leave with my new charges.” Mors said as a statement more than a question. They were quite done with playing pleasantries with the matron. She was one of the numeral reasons as to why Mors disliked mortals— _humans_ in particular—so much. They were such fickle and revolting creatures and always got on his nerves. _Especially that Tom Riddle,_ floated into Mors mind as they flickered their black black eyes over to the two boys holding hands. They was still sore that he had dared to try and cheat them. And they also felt the beginnings of contempt creeping up inside of them at knowing that Harry went back in time just to team up with _Tom Riddle_ for revenge. Weren't they enough to enact revenge? Why couldn't _they_ be the one Harry spent time with plotting. _They_ could come up with better methods of revenge than a mere mortal who had yet to see a decade. It would be much faster as well. Harry wouldn't need to wait for some mortal to grow up.

  
“Yeh-yes,” Mrs Cole said shakily, feeling the scary aura surrounding Mors. “You mah-may take them with you nah-now.”

  
Nodding their head, Mors dismissed Mrs Cole as if she were some insignificant speck of dust and turned to address Harry. And Tom as well, but it was with thinly veiled reluctance in which they did so. A reluctance that Tom caught on to quickly enough and returned in full. His dark eyes minutely narrowed and his mouth drew down into a frown. Neither of them liked each other, even if it was Tom’s first time meeting Mors. There was just something which rubbed Tom the wrong way with Mors. And loathe he to admit it, Tom couldn't help but be unnerved in the presence of Mors. There was something foreboding and unsettling about them.

  
“Well, come along then,” Mors told them while moving in front of them. “It's time for you two to get out of this wretched place.” They said, earning a disgruntled look shot at his back from Mrs Cole. Walking past Harry and Tom and expecting them to follow, Mors completely ignored the glare burning holes into their back. She was of no concern to them anymore, her usefulness running short quite quickly. They didn't want to see her ever again until her death day.

  
“Ah, wait,” Harry told Mors once they were out of Mrs Cole’s sight. “We need to get our things first.” _What little of it there is,_ he mentally added.

  
Mors immediately stopped and turned to the two of them. “Of course. I'll be right here waiting for you two.” Mors consented, smiling warmly at Harry and ignoring Tom.

  
Smiling as well, Harry grabbed Tom's arm and started dragging him away. “We'll be right back!” Harry called over his shoulder as they ascended the stairs quickly.

  
Arriving at their room shortly after, Harry rummaged through their stuff to see what was worth taking with them. Soon after Tom followed in suit. It did not take them very long, considering they did not own very much. When they were done Tom had his (stolen) books and (stolen) trinkets while Harry had his one book and some of his own personal items. They didn't bother bringing the clothes, for they were rather low quality and uncomfortable. Harry knew that they would get new clothes anyways as well. He doubted Mors would allow them to live in rags.

  
With Tom in tow, Harry hurried back to the waiting Mors. “All done.” Harry exclaimed.

  
“Well that was quick.” Mors commented.

  
“We didn't have much to pack.” Harry explained simply.

  
“Well, I'll make sure both of you will get plenty of stuff when we get home,” they told them. “Now come, let us head out.” Mors started walking towards the front door.

  
Obediently, Harry followed Mors out and eagerly dragged a much more resistant Tom with him. Once they exited the orphanage, Mors hand quickly struck out like a snake and gently grabbed a hold of Harry's shoulder. Without letting Harry, or even Tom for that instance, prepare himself, Mors teleported them instantly to the Peverell Castle. Staggering, it was only the combined grips of Mors and Tom which kept Harry from face planting onto the hard, marble floor. Gathering his bearings, Harry was immediately met with a sight which he would store in a pensieve as soon as he could, for there stood Tom Marvolo Riddle, future Dark Lord, with a completely dumbfounded look on his face. His eyes were wide and even his mouth was parted slightly in shock. Sure, the reaction didn't look like a normal person's reaction to life shocking events, but for Tom to have shown so much emotion was astounding.

  
“Cat got your tongue?” Harry asked, not being able to help but tease him.

  
“Of course not.” Tom replied back, instantly schooling his features. His eyes told Harry that he owed an explanation. A very lengthy explanation.

  
It was then that Harry realised that he never explained the Wizarding World to him, having procrastinated in explaining. Harry could also detect a hint of hurt, which immediately made Harry feel bad. He didn't mean to not tell him. He really didn't.

  
“Oh come on Tom,” Harry rolled his eyes, his voice light. He was trying to lighten the situation and remove the hurt look on Tom's face. “There's nothing wrong with showing a little emotion.”

  
“Yes there is,” Tom responded a little more harshly than he meant to, his feelings still a little sore. “Emotions are a weakness.” Tom told Harry firmly, completely believing what he was saying. If there was a sort of nagging sensation in Tom’s mind which told him he was wrong, he ignored it.

  
“Oh.” Harry said lowly in a dejected voice, but Tom didn't hear it.

  
They continued to walk after Mors, but this time in silence. Harry thought that he didn't mind the silence between them; he could have once even said the silence between them was comfortable, but currently he couldn't help but hate the too loud sounds of their footsteps echoing in the halls and the low whooshes of air going in and out of their noses.

  
Mors lead them to an unfamiliar door and opened it, revealing the room to be a bedroom. The room, much like all the other rooms in the castle, was extravagantly designed and full of intricate details. The colour scheme was overall a forest green, though there was some black and gold as well. The bed was at the middle of the back wall alongside a few bookcases.

  
“All right then, Tom,” Mors started, looking entirely too smug for Harry’s to feel comfortable. When Death itself was smug, that could never be a good sign. “This is your new room. I'm sure you'll love having a room _all to yourself_ after having to be in that orphanage so long and share a small bedroom.” Mors told him while looking straight at Tom, his face void of any of his previous smugness.

  
Immediately after those words were spoken, Tom’s face twisted into some indiscernible emotion for a brief moment before it smoothed out into his mask. “My own room?” Tom asked, his voice hard and lips pursed. There was something sinister in Tom’s eyes as he looked at Mors. Harry had no idea what Tom could possibly be unhappy about. He was absolutely sure that Tom loathed the orphanage with a passion and would be overjoyed at living in a castle of all places. He was also quite certain that Tom would enjoy having his own, giant room with a personal library in it as well. There was nothing in the situation they were in that Tom would be displeased, that Harry was sure of.

  
“Yes,” Mors confirmed. “Your own room. Now that both of you are out of that orphanage, I have taken into consideration that you should live in full luxury. No more having to deal with cramped living spaces and sharing all of your belongings. Everything is yours.” Mors further elaborated with a smile with a little too many teeth. His words, though seemingly considerate and friendly, did not quite match up with his body language and face, as convincing as they seemed to be.

  
“Come on, Tom,” Harry started, now slightly upset that Tom didn't look too happy with the situation. He really did think Tom would love having his own room and not have to share. “Don't you love it?”

  
Tom immediately caught on to the fact that Harry was upset that he didn't seem happy and made to rectify the matter, as unhappy about what he was going to do as he was. “Of course I do.” Tom told Harry convincingly.

  
Mors was all too happy to pounce on the opportunity. “Ah, so you do like it. I was worried there for a moment. Come now, let us get you settled in with your things,” they said while gripping onto Tom’s shoulder and practically dragging him in. “You head on over to your own room to get settled in, Harry. We'll meet up with you shortly in the main parlour.” Mors told Harry, earning a hesitant look from him.

  
“Go on, Harry. It won't be long.” Tom added with one of his charming smiles.

  
“Ah, alright…” Harry agreed while looking between the two, feeling sorely confused at their actions. He might be a little oblivious at times, but even he had caught on to the slightly strained tension between the two.

  
The dark, blue door closed shut with a _click_ , causing Harry to jump a bit. Turning, Harry gave one last look at the closed door where the two disappeared before shrugging and walking away to put away his items in his room. Shortly after, Harry made his way to the main parlour, which was as grand as it was intimidating, meaning that it looked better suited for a haunted house rather than a parlour. Cracked marble walls stretched high above while rusted bronze figures—some as small as a rabbit to as large as a full grown human—of varying degrees of ruin decorated the room. The furniture, while ornate, was faded and torn at the edges. And the overall cleanliness of the room could be debated, for while there wasn't a speck of dirt to be seen, cobwebs and large, gaping holes littered the entire place.

  
“What happened here?” Harry muttered to himself with wide eyes as he took in the entire room. “It's like a battleground,” Stepping forward rather tentatively, Harry eyed a particularly frightening hole in the floor as he made his way to an armchair in front of a giant, burnt fireplace. It really was quite large; large enough for both Tom and Harry to comfortably fit in it. Sinking down into the chair, Harry found himself surprised at how comfy it was. Despite the tattered cushion and cracked wood, Harry actually wouldn't have too much trouble sleeping in it. If he didn't let his imagination run wild over the large cobwebs underneath, that is. “Well…with a little bit of tidying up, this room could be quite nice,” Harry decided, which led him to wondering why the room was never repaired. He was sure that no house-elf in their right mind would be able to stand the state of the parlour.

  
Snapping his fingers, the fireplace roared to life, instantly casting the room into an orange glow. “Mmh.” Harry mumbled incoherently while settling more comfortably into the chair and closing his eyes. It was not long after that Harry dozed off into another dream filled with terror. Luckily for Harry, his nightmare did not involve his past for once but spiders instead. Harry would much prefer to suffer spiders in contrast to his past.

  
An hour later, the voices of Tom and Mors could be heard in the hallway, approaching the parlour. Their steps echoed ominously, as did their voices.

  
“Have we come to an accord?” Mors’ voice asked.

  
“Yes. For now.” Tom answered curtly.

  
“Wonderful.” Mors said sharply.

  
When they entered the parlour much later than they had anticipated or told Harry, though it was all right, considering he was fast asleep, the previously small tension between the two had boiled over nearly into full blown hostility. The tension between them was almost palpable, and it was entirely too strong to be cut with a knife. More like a chainsaw. Each wore thin-lipped smiles and refused to look at each other. Their relationship had only soured in each other's company, their personalities clashing terribly. It was a wonder they hadn't teared each other's throats out yet, really, what with the way they were acting around each other.

  
Looking over at the large, crackling fire and spotting the small figure curled up in a chair, they both started to approach Harry. When they got close enough to notice Harry’s nightmare induced face at the same time, they both took a step to come to his aid, only to stop immediately after they realised they had the same thought in mind. It would not do for both of them to help him. “What do you think you're doing?” Tom asked. “He is _my_ responsibility.”

  
“Au contraire, Tom, he is _my_ responsibility and so are you, no matter how much I wish it not to be so,” Mors countered with a smug smile. “I _am_ his guardian, after all. By _law_ , he is my responsibility. There is just simply nothing you can do to change that.”

  
“I can think of a few ways I could change that,” Tom said, a sinister glint in his eyes. “Besides, I know him better than you. You're just some stranger who will give us a place to sleep and eat, nothing more and certainly less.” Tom said, ignoring the jab at his dislike of his name. He had become somewhat used to being called Tom by Harry; it could be said he even somewhat enjoyed it. To hear that common and boring name from Mors, however, was something that Tom loathed. Only Harry could call him Tom.

  
“I know him best.” Mors replied.

  
“I doubt that,” Tom said coolly. “And I have known him longer.”

  
“That is a falsity, I'm afraid.” Mors said with mock sympathy while on the inside they were mentally grinning at the situation. “And it doesn't matter if you doubt that, it is the truth.” Young Tom, however smart he was, could never beat Death themself in a battle of wits. Death conveniently ignored the fact that they were feeling satisfaction at beating a child so much younger than them it wasn't even funny. They had an excuse. A really good one. Death would say not even a fully grown Tom Riddle could best them; not even a Tom Riddle his age could. No matter how long Tom may try to avoid them, Death would always triumph in the end. Except for Harry, that is, but he is a special case. Death would never take Harry. Ever.

  
“What do you mean by that?” Tom asked with narrowed eyes and well hidden confusion. He had never seen Mors before and he hadn't seen Harry with him either. The only possibility was that Mors knew Harry before he went to the orphanage, but that then begged the question of why Mors never adopted Harry sooner.

  
“No no, Tom. That is not my story to tell.” Mors said, knowing that Harry valued his secrets and wouldn't want them to be told without his consent.

  
“Then what is _your_ story to tell?” Tom inquired.

  
Mors looked around the room all conspiratory and then looked at Tom. “You want to know?” Mors said as if it was some sort of big secret he wasn't supposed to tell. He was having way too much fun.

  
“…Yes?” Tom said a bit like a question, extremely cautious at Mors willingness to talk. He knew it was probably a trap, but he just couldn't contain his burning curiosity over Mors. He just suddenly appeared out of the blue, willing to adopt two children, and having supposedly know Harry very well and vice versa.

  
“Is that a question?” Mors asked.

  
Tom paused for a moment before he said, “No.”

  
“So your answer is no.” Mors concluded.

  
“My answer is yes.” Tom said, his ire starting to rise.

  
“So that was a question?” Mors asked confused.

  
“No it wasn't a question, and yes I want to know.” Tom gritted out. He was now very annoyed at Mors.

  
Mors pursued his lips. “You want to know what?”

  
“I want to know your story.”

  
“Which story? I have many. Too many, truly.” Mors said while looking away, seemingly lost in memory.

  
“It seems Harry is waking up.” Tom pointed out so he conveniently didn't have to answer.

  
Mors gave a superior smirk towards Tom before walking over to Harry. “So it seems.” His eye twitching minutely, Tom followed after him.

  
When Harry opened his eyes, having been roused by Tom and Mors arguing, he was met with the most peculiar of sites. Tom and Mors were standing side by side as if they were the best of mates. All and any tension Harry had been picking up on before had completely disappeared into thin air. It was a shock, to say the least. “Did I miss something?” Harry asked cautiously, feeling slightly on edge. Their behaviour reminded him entirely too much of the Weasley twins when they were planning a prank.

  
“Nothing at all.” Mors told Harry. Tom and Mors glanced at each other.

  
“We just came to an, ah…an _agreement_.” Tom elaborated with a smile.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I find it both sad and hilarious that the longest chapter I've ever written for a story was done when I was sleep deprived and blinking twenty times a second.


End file.
